


Still Life

by usedupshiver



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Art, Artist Steve Rogers, Artists, Creepy Fluff, M/M, Manipulative Loki, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome - M/M/M, Warning: Loki, creeptastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve can barely believe his luck when his talented professor offers him drawing lessons in private. Both because it's a huge help in his dreams of becoming a great artist himself, and because he wants nothing more than to spend time alone with professor Laufeyson. And he is amazed when it seems his interest isn't as onesided as he had thought.</p><p>When he finds out that Loki already lives with Tony, a man who is very obviously the love of his life, Steve is prepared to turn tail and run. Instead he finds himself welcomed into their world. Which turns out to be a strange and overwhelming experience, irresistably drawing him in. And he doesn't even notice when it starts to consume him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Private lesson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iswyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iswyn/gifts).



> So, this is obviously a story that is very different from my other things. At the heart of it it's still frostiron, only told from Steve's POV.  
> This story also wouldn't be here if Iswyn hadn't supported it all the way - and in the process she also helped make it a whole lot better. Thank you!

”I don't get what's so special about the guy.” Bucky's plate was scraped clean, so he pushed to the side and leaned with his elbows on the table between them. ”He's your teacher, Stevie. You're supposed to hate teachers. For giving you too much homework and being assholes about tests and failing you because you swore in class that one time.”

Steve hid his face behind his cup of tea, so James wouldn't see him smirk. It wasn't that difficult; the cup was so big he had to use both hands to hold it steady while he sipped the hot drink. By the time he put it back down he thought he had his face under control again. It wouldn't help him to point out that having problems with teachers had been Bucky's thing, not his.

There was a reason his friend had never even considered further studies.

”That was in high school”, he said, trying to explain. ”It's different now. I'm there because I want to be. And professor Laufeyson isn't just a teacher.”

”No, I know, he's an _artist_.” Artist, to rhyme with 'complete loser'. He always seemed to forget that that was what Steve wanted to be as well. An artist, that is. Not a complete loser. ”You took me to see his stuff, remember?” Bucky's nose wrinkled in a kind of confused disgust. ”Weirdest shit I've ever seen. I didn't understand anything.”

Steve couldn't stop himself rolling his eyes at that. ”Of course you didn't, Buck. You could be eye to eye with Mona Lisa and have no idea.”

”Who?”

”Exactly.”

James looked vaguely annoyed as he ran a hand back through his smooth, dark hair. He obviously knew he was being made fun of but had no idea how. ”Anyway. Like I said – weird.” He frowned. ”What was up with all the strings?”

That was a question Steve actually wished he could answer.

He had spent a lot of time studying the professor's drawings when they had been exhibited at the city's museum. They were the kind it wasn't difficult to get stuck staring at forever. Even the smallest ones, about the size of Steve's palm, had so many intricate details he kept discovering new things an hour later. The biggest ones, almost as tall as him, were nearly overpowering and he had to take them in a little bit at a time. But it was all done with smooth, controlled lines that gave each piece an elegant flow when you studied it from a distance.

All of the drawings had a theme in common; there was always a marionette somewhere in there. Sometimes it was an actual puppet, with joints carved in wood, painted eyes and yarn for hair. More often it was humans, at times animals, and in a few even plants, but they all had strings attached to them, allowing something to control them, make them act and move. The strange thing about the strings, though, was that they were never held by anyone, or anything. They curled in intricate twists and knots around the edges of the drawings, and following them to the end had made Steve's eyes hurt. He always found an end, though. The threads were always cut.

He didn't know what it meant, but unlike Bucky he hadn't found it weird – Steve thought it was intriguing.

”I don't know.” Steve shrugged and looked down into his tea as he stirred it to make it cool faster. He would have to leave soon to be on time for his afternoon lecture.

”You should ask him.”

”It's not like that.” He shook his head and both felt and saw his blond fringe fall into his face. It was getting too long. ”Art isn's about getting one right or wrong answer. Or knowing an exact meaning. It's there to make you feel and think for yourself.”

”I'm supposed to _feel_ something about a bunch of strings?”

Steve glanced up at him. ”Apparently you do, or you wouldn't be this upset about them.”

”Upset? Who's _upset_?” Bucky was actually scowling now, his eyes narrowing and his strong jaw stubbornly set. Then he noticed Steve's smile and gave a snort. ”Shut up.”

Steve didn't shut up. ”Professor Laufeyson is the most brilliant teacher I've ever had. I have a chance to learn from the best. Why wouldn't I be excited about that?”

There came a noncommittal little noise from Bucky, but Steve didn't try to coax a better answer from his friend. He just pulled his phone from his shirt pocket to check the time, and then quckly picked up his cup to gulp the tea down.

”Are you trying to drown yourself or something? Slow down, Stevie, shit!”

Steve started laughing and almost did drown. He came back up coughing on bergamot and shaking his head. ”Late”, he managed to get out through his thick, sore throat.

”That would be my bad influence at work.” James looked pleased with himself.

”You're such an idiot, Buck.”

”Your favourite idiot?”

”Definitely top three. Now I really have to go.” Steve was reaching for his bag before he had even finished talking.

They went their separate ways outside the coffee shop and Steve more or less had to run to make sure he didn't get to the lecture late, even though the place they always went to was right by the campus. It was still a close thing. The door to the room was open when he got there, his lungs wheezing from the strain, but everyone else was already there. That meant that the place where he usually sat, comfortably hidden in the middle of the group, was already taken. The only seat left, at least the only one he would reach in time to sit down before they started, was one right in the front row.

He had no choice. He had to stumble over on legs still weak and trembling from adrenaline, and sit down.

While he flipped open his notebook and tried to catch his breath Steve watched professor Laufeyson turn from the whiteboard, where he had made a few notes in preparation for the lecture, to eye the room. He was clearly intent on getting started as soon as they all realized it was time to quiet down - which as always took just a moment. Where other teachers sometimes had to shout for them to listen, all professor Laufeyson had to do was look at them and the shift in focus snapped them all to attention.

As he watched the lecture get started, Steve knew there was more he could have told Bucky about the professor. Much more. And maybe those things could have helped him understand what was really _so special about the guy_.

He could have told him that the professor was devastatingly gorgeous. That he was tall and lean and always wore slacks that were tight enough at the top to give a hint of the shape of his ass, before they draped in a casually elegant way over his long legs. All the way down to the black leather shoes he always wore. Shoes of the kind that were ridiculously expensive and a bit stiff when you bought them, but then turned butter soft and so comfortable you kept them until they basically fell off your feet. Most of the professor's clothes seemed to be like that - quality garments he'd worn for years. His black or dark gray pants, his shirts and soft sweaters, also dark or with hints of blue or green in subtle patterns.

Steve could have told Bucky about how he sometimes, at home, alone, in secret, sat down to draw portraits of the professor, and how the results always astonished him, since Loki Laufeyson actually looked a lot like those drawings. Hair black as the coal, his skin almost as pale as the white, flawless paper, his features made entirely of sharp lines and smooth shadows. Lashes caressing high cheekbones.

His eyes were the only things Steve could never capture. They were a mix of blues and greens that looked turquoise in the daylight. When the professor turned passionate about the subject of a lecture - which happened more or less every time - those eyes sparkled like jewels.

He always carefully hid those portraits away, so he wouldn't accidentally open his sketchbook and one would fall out onto his desk in the middle of class.

He could have told his friend about how the professor's teeth were pearly white and perfectly even. All except one on the left side of the lower jaw, which was slightly pushed in behind its brothers. And how that tiny imperfection somehow just made the man's smile even more perfect, on the rare occasions when he offered it freely to his students.

At home, alone, in secret, Steve sometimes dreamed about how it would feel to let the tip of his tongue slide over that tooth, feel the hard edges of the ones beside it. But those dreams he really couldn't tell anyone about.

He could have told Bucky about the way professor Laufeyson moved, though. The way he seemed to exert complete control over every single muscle in his body. And about the way the professor always rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows when he worked. During the drawing lessons it seemed to be to get them out of the way so he could work unhindered, and without them getting stained – even though many of his garments already were, seemingly permanently. During the art history lectures it seemed much more like a habit, something he did absently, not even noticing, his long hands busy weaving complex patterns in the air around his velvety voice. Like right now, when he pointed a long, elegant finger at raised hands to take questions, or made notes on the whiteboard in his just as elegant handwriting.

Steve always rolled the sleeves of his shirts up too, but he did it mostly because there were never any shirts with sleeves the right length for him. They were so long his bony fingers almost disappeared into them, and he hated how that made him look like a kid who had stolen his clothes from his father's wardrobe.

When the professor's sleeves rolled back, they revealed lean forearms with the sinewy, subtle sort of musculature that hides a kind of strength you don't see coming until it's too late. His fair skin was thin enough over the inside of those arms that blue and green veins showed through, and there was just a dusting of black hairs along the backs.

The problem, of course, was that if Steve were to tell Bucky any of those things, there was a whole host of other things his friend would begin to understand about Steve himself, and he wasn't ready for that. Maybe he never would be. But then that didn't matter anyway, because the professor was the amazingly talented, brilliant Loki Laufeyson, while he was the completey insignificant Steven Rogers, who was so small that sometimes automatic doors wouldn't take notice of his presence and refused to slide open when he approached.

It was about then that Steve realized he hadn't heard a word of the lecture so far. He had been lost in thought and too busy taking in the way the professor's hair tumbled in wild tangles over his wide shoulders when he leaned in over the desk, reading something in his notes. And while he still had his eyes glued to professor Laufeyson's bent down head, the artist looked up again and his blindingly bright, turquoise eyes fell directly on Steve's face, right there in the front row.

Steve knew he was staring but couldn't even blink, frozen like a shivering hare caught in the lights of an approaching freight train. Since his tongue felt dry he was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open, too. His heart gave a painful stutter he knew had nothing to do with the recent physical exertion.

Then professor Laufeyson turned his eyes away, continuing the lecture as if nothing had happened.

Because nothing had happened. Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

At least that was what Steve was sure of then, on Monday afternoon.

On Thursday morning it was time for the next drawing class, which was Steve's favourite time of the week. He liked the art history lectures just fine, but it couldn't compare to putting pencil to paper and actually working on his skills. Steve lived for those hours every week. He lost himself in the work, applying everything he had to the lesson at hand.

Halfway through the class, when the room was quiet except for the light scrape and hiss of pencil tips on paper, everyone working hard, Steve found himself squirming a little in his seat, the back of his neck tingling. When he went to scratch under the hair hanging down over it he caught a glimpse of professor Laufeyson out of the corner of his eye, and realized that the man was watching him.

The professor was leaning back against the front of his desk, lower arms folded over his abdomen, the thin fingers on one hand grabbing an elbow, the ones on the other looking like they were absently stroking his own ribs under the fabric of his shirt. His legs, stretching out in front of him to support his position by the table, were casually crossed at the ankles. It was his usual position watching the class work, ready to push away from the desk and walk over to help or answer questions, but right now he wasn't watching the class. He was watching Steve and only Steve, turquoise eyes so fixed on his face that the intent gaze had made the skin on Steve's neck prickle.

Unable to stop his muscles from moving Steve felt his head turn until he met that gaze. His skin was still tickling like something smooth was slithering down his back, and his cheeks felt too hot.

A faint upwards curve came to one side of professor Laufeyson's thin lips.

Steve made his eyes drop back to the paper in front of him. Suddenly all of him felt too hot, his skin tight over his bones, and he slipped a finger under his collar, fumbling the top button open and trying to be subtle about it at the same time. It wasn't easy.

When he glanced up again, without any idea how much time had passed, the professor was gone from his desk. Steve was blinking at the empty spot in surprise when he heard the scrape of a shoe. It was enough warning that he didn't squeal and fall off his chair when a hand settled on his shoulder, but he still flinched and turned his head in a twitch.

The smile on the professor's face was more obvious this time.

The man's left hand was resting on Steve's right shoulder, and he could feel every inch of it, warmth bleeding through his shirt. It was so long that the palm was resting on his shoulder blade while the fingertips were settling over his collarbone, and the thumb was sliding down the top of his arm. The movement felt almost like a little caress.

Professor Laufeyson turned his head and looked at the drawing between Steve's suddenly limp and damp hands. Then he gave a slight nod, a tangled length of his black hair falling from his shoulder.

”Very nice, Mr. Rogers”, he said in the soft, quiet voice he always used when he spoke directly to one of his students. So different from the clear, firm voice he used during his lectures. ”You have a good eye. Your hand, however, needs more practice.” And as he spoke, his own hand slid off Steve's shoulder to point out exactly the lines Steve had known were off, but had been unable to get right.

Steve swallowed, turning back to look at the artist by his side. ”Yes, professor. I mean... thank you? I know I need to put more work into it.”

Something like surprise shifted in the man's expression then, and Steve knew what that was about – his voice. People always expected him to squeak like a mouse when he spoke. They didn't expect him to have such a deep voice, one that seemed to belong to a man three times his size. But nothing more was said. With just another nod, the professor moved away from him.

Steve sat staring at his lean back, swaying with his slow steps as he walked across the room, trying to understand what had just happened. Because no-one had praised his drawing skills since his mother passed away. And now a man he admired had just told him he had talent.

The glowing warmth in his heart even surpassed the lingering warmth where the professor's hand had touched him.

His eyes stung, and Steve knew he was just moments away from crying. So he cleared his throat, rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, and picked up his pencil, going back to work. He was getting those lines right, if it was the last thing he did.

Even as his heart soared on the praise from his teacher, Steve was still pretty sure that nothing had happened that time either. 

Even when he stood in just his pyjama pants in front of the bathroom mirror that night, looking at his own narrow, bony shoulders and tried to imagine what the professor's hands would look like resting there, he still thought it was nothing. He could almost see the man behind him, pale fingers curling into the hollows on the front of Steve's shoulders, so tall he would surely tower a full head over the whisps of Steve's blond hair. But that meant nothing. And even if it did mean something, it was just to Steve.

A week passed like that, and then he was back in class. Trying to put all his focus on his work instead of studying the professor's every move through the room. He thought it went rather well, considering professor Laufeyson seemed to be the only thing on his mind. Yes, the little doodles he absently left in the margins of his notebook were inspired by black half-curls of untidy hair, and when the lesson was about drawing hands the ones taking shape on Steve's paper tended to be long-fingered and elegant, with marked knuckles and sinews. But he kept his eyes on that paper, at least.

When class was over and they were all packing up and leaving Steve still kept his eyes down, so when he moved toward the door it was a surprise to hear his name spoken in a familiar, silky voice.

”Mr. Rogers?”

He came to such an abrupt halt that a girl behind him almost ran into his shoulder. Luckily she managed to step around him, or she might have toppled him over. Steve couldn't make himself care about that when he looked up to find the professor seated behind his desk, getting a stack of papers in order. Bright eyes capturing his own.

”Yes, professor?”

”I would like to have a word with you”, the artist said, his face so neutral Steve had no idea what to make of the statement. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? ”Right now I have another class, but I would appreciate it if you came by my office later. At two thirty?”

There was definitely a question in the tone of the last words, so it had to be a request, not a demand.

Steve nodded. He had no more lessons today, anyway. ”Of course, professor Laufeyson. I'll be there.”

He got a smile which seemed to be both a thank you and a dismissal.

He spent the next couple of hours in the library, pretending to study while his mind whirred with questions about what the professor could possibly want to see him about. Had he messed something up? The impression he got in the classroom wasn't one telling him that he was in trouble, though, so he didn't think that was it. Not that that stopped his heart from nearly cracking his ribs from the inside when he walked up to the door to the professor's office that afternoon, two thirty sharp, and raised a hand to knock. There came a ”Yes?” from the other side so Steve made his hand close around the handle and open the door enough that he could stick his head inside. 

Professor Laufeyson was sitting behind a desk in the other end of the surprisingly large office, his face and his green shirt lit up by the daylight falling in from a window on his left, which was showing a just as green view of the campus – the dark, almost over-ripe shade of green hinting that summer would soon be over. A little smile came to his thin lips when he saw who it was at the door.

”You asked to see me, professor?” Best to remind him, even though he didn't seem to mind having Steve there.

”I did.” He raised a hand to wave Steve inside. ”Have a seat.” The hand dropped to gesture toward a worn, wooden chair in front of the heavy desk.

Steve slipped all the way through the door and carefully shut it behind himself. As he walked through the office he glanced around, curious, taking in the walls covered with shelves. Most held books, but one in the corner behind the desk, half covered by thick, dark drapes, held rows of framed artworks. The contents of the shelves filled the room with that faintly sour and spicy smell of old paper and ink. Then he was by the chair offered to him and dropped his bag onto the worn rug under it before he sat down.

When he looked up the professor had leaned back in his own chair, elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled in front of his chest while his eyes were resting on Steve's face.

”Tell me... Steve?”

The pause, the inflection, the slight arch of a sharp, black eyebrow – all of it told him the professor was asking his permission to call him by his given name. And how could he have denied it, hearing that voice wrap like velvet around the syllables? Professor Laufeyson's tongue as close to Steve as it was ever going to get? He couldn't, that's how. He couldn't answer, either, but apparently his wide-eyed, waiting silence was enough to make clear that he wouldn't object.

”What are you hoping to achieve with your art? What are your dreams?”

Whatever Steve had imagined the artist was going to talk to him about, this was not it. His eyes flitted first between the bright eyes studying him, a darker shade of blue than usual in this light, then down to the man's fingers, twining together, then to the dark surface of the desk, back to the pale face. All the while trying to gather his thoughts and find something to say.

”I... I guess I want to... ” He swallowed, hard, hearing the strangled noise from his tight throat. ”To change the world.”

That black eyebrow arched higher. Steve had expected a hint of amusement, too, or maybe even a dismissive smirk. But there was nothing like that.

”Oh?” His hands dropped into his lap now, and he sat up a little straighter in the chair. ”How?”

”Art, it inspires people. Makes them think and feel things they didn't, before. Makes them see things new ways.” Suddenly the words were tumbling out of him, flowing from his heart. ”There's not much I can do in the world. I'm just... well, the little guy.” Steve's eyes dropped to his own hands, curled to fists on his tense thighs. ”But I could do this. I could inspire those who can do things.” He met a thoughtful expression across the table when he raised his head again. ”I mean, I hope I could. In time. Professor.” He added the title as a belated afterthought.

”I see.” Professor Laufeyson sat in silence for a few moments. ”I have been watching you, Steve.” He smiled a little at the look of confused shock that must have passed Steve's face then. ”You show more talent and promise than any student I've had, and if you want to change the world? Yes, I think you could do that. With practice.” His head tilted gently to the side, blue highlights moving in his hair. ”You could be something... extraordinary. I would like to help you with that.”

Steve blinked. ”What do you mean, professor? You already do.”

The smile that earned him was the sweetest he had ever received. ”That may be so, but I could do more.” Now the professor leaned forward. ”If you're interested, I'm offering you extra lessons. In private.”

And then Steve almost forgot how to breathe. ”I can't...” He gasped for air. ”I'm incredibly honoured by the offer. But I can't afford something like that, professor Laufeyson.”

A headshake came immediately, before he was even done speaking the name. ”This wouldn't cost you anything. Well, except what you would have to spend to get to my house, since I live a few miles from campus and you would have to get there on your own. If you want to, that is?” Both black eyebrows were raised now, the expression on the professor's face almost vulnerable as he waited for an answer.

He couldn't be hearing this right. Was the professor actually offering him private lessons? For free? In his own home? But if he was hearing it right, if that was what really was happening, then he knew what his answer had to be.

”I want to, professor. I really do.”

* * *

Curled up in a seat in the back of the bus taking him to the suburb where the professor lived, Steve could barely remember how his conversation with the man had ended, or how he had left his office. He knew he had walked out of there with a piece of paper with an address and a few brief directions on how to get there, but that was all.

Steve was holding that paper in his hands now, slightly crumbled, his fingers twitching nervously around it.

He wanted this, so badly. But he was afraid that he wanted it for the wrong reasons.

Yes, he had meant every word he had said about wanting to change the world. He really had. And private lessons with the professor would give him an amazing start. This could change his life, and he was so grateful, and honoured, and flattered that words could barely describe it.

Still, Steve didn't just want that. He also wanted this chance because it would let him be all alone with professor Laufeyson, have him all to himself, far away from classes and students and the busy campus. Where perhaps the artist would see that Steve wasn't just a talented student. That there was more to him than a willingness to learn. Perhaps the professor would see past the art and be impressed not just with the potential in that, but be impressed with him. Just him. 

Maybe he would even give Steve that sweet, sweet smile? Maybe he would place his warm hand on Steve's shoulder again? Maybe...

He gave a heavy sigh, wrapped his arms around himself and leaned to the side in the hard seat so he could tilt his head against the bus window. That always looked so comfortable in the movies. In reality, it made his teeth rattle and his brain feel like it was bouncing around inside his skull, but somehow that helped distract him from this useless line of thought.

The professor was doing him a favour. A kind and incredibly generous favour. One he had no obligation to Steve to offer him to begin with. And Steve was repaying him by hoping he could use this opportunity for completely selfish reasons.

Gritting his teeth Steve pulled his head back a couple of inches from the glass to let it thump against the window again. And then again.

_Get it together, Rogers. Don't ruin this. Please, don't ruin this..._

After about twenty minutes on the bus Steve reached the stop where the professor had told him to get off. From there it was a five minute walk along a more narrow road, leading in among the trees by the side of the main road. Where that road ended was one single house, so this had to be the right one. It was small and tidy and with an attached garage, both built out of dark red brick. The black surface of the steeply angled roof was broken up by tall, narrow windows and Steve instantly knew that the professor's studio had to be up there. He was surprised by the fact that the garage was so large, with room for two cars. He was even more surprised by the car parked in front of the right garage door. It wasn't the professor's efficiently sleek, dark green Toyota. No, this was some huge, wide monstrosity, probably a relic from the fifties or sixties – and it was _pink_. A soft, creamy bubblegum pink.

That couldn't be professor Laufeyson's car, could it? Steve frowned at the thing as he walked up the drive, heading for the front door.

The house was to the left of the garage, in the middle of a small garden. The garden gave the impression of having been planned in a way that would make it pleasing to the eye with a minimum of work. A few old, knobbly apple trees were spread out on what should have been a lawn, but instead looked more like a meadow, tall grasses and wildflowers minding their own business, unbothered by lawnmowers.

He found himself hovering by the door for a while before he mustered the courage to ring the doorbell. Then Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he anxiously waited for it to open. He was on time, wasn't he? Oh, god, was it the right day? Saturday, three PM. He fumbled for his phone and checked it. Saturday, one minute past three. No, this was it. 

When he was about to feel certain that the professor had just pulled a prank on him, getting him to show up at some random stranger's house in the middle of the weekend as some sort of cruel joke, the door opened. And there was professor Laufeyson, at last. This close he looked if possible even taller, and for the first time ever Steve got to see him in something other than his ”uniform” for work. Here, at home, he was dressed in black jeans and a thin sweater falling in soft folds around his hips, the sleeves as always pushed up past his elbows. When he saw Steve, he smiled. Not that perfect, sweet smile, but a smile none the less.

”Steve”, he said, and even his voice sounded more casual here, not the soft, private tone or the lecturing one. This was something natural and smooth. ”Come on in.”

The professor backed away from the door, giving Steve room to step into the small entrance hall. To his left were some wardrobes, to the right a few hooks on the wall and a rug with a few pairs of shoes. Steve took the hint and hung his old leather jacket on one of the hooks, toeing his shoes off on the rug.

When he looked up the professor had already moved into the house and he hurried to follow. On his left were two carefully closed doors, to the right he got a brief impression of an open livingroom and a hint of a kitchen. In front of him the tall man carried on toward a spiral, wrought iron staircase, painted dark gray. Climbing up the wall and the side of the staircase was a monstrously huge potted plant, obviously thriving in the daylight falling down from the attic above. Some of its enormous leaves, so similar to ribcages with a sternum running down the middle, were closer to two feet across. Steve found himself keeping a little bit of a distance to the plant, respectful in a way he couldn't explain to himself. 

He followed the professor up the stairs, keeping his eyes on his feet so he wouldn't be tempted to eye the man's ass in those jeans. When they reached the space under the slanted roof, which did indeed turn out to be a studio, it wasn't difficult to keep his eyes occupied, though. The space was painted a soft shade of white, the floorboards were pale wood, making the most of the light from the windows overhead. In one end of the room was a desk, in the other a cabinet, doors open so Steve could see that it was filled with stacks of paper and glass jars full of pencils and brushes and other tools. An empty easel was standing close to the cabinet.

”Did you have any trouble finding your way here?” The professor had turned to face him now, hands settled on his narrow hips, hugged so tightly by black denim.

”Not really, professor.” Steve dropped the bag holding his sketchbook and pencils on the floor. 

The professor pursed his lips, looking thoughtful for a moment. ”I think that, at least here, I would prefer if you just call me Loki.” He gave a slow shrug and a little twist of a smile. ”It's stranger than I thought, being addressed by title in my own home.”

”I can do that I suppose. Loki.” A pleasurable little shiver spread up the back of his neck when he said the name.

”Thank you, Steve.” That was almost that sweet, lingering smile, and Steve felt like he was melting. Then Loki rubbed his hands together. ”Now, shall we get started with your lesson?”

He didn't dare test his voice, so Steve just nodded. Then he picked up his bag and followed the artist over to the desk, watched as the man pulled an extra chair standing by the side of it closer, so they could sit side by side. He postponed the inevitable moment when he had to take a seat so close to Loki by unpacking his sketchbook and a few pencils, but then he had to sit down. And it was everything he had wanted and feared.

They were so close his teacher's wide shoulder sometimes brushed by his narrow one when he leaned in to point out details on Steve's paper. He could smell the shampoo in the silky hair, something fresh with a hint of almonds. He could feel the warmth from Loki's skin, hear his even, slow breathing, feel the vibrations of his deep voice. When the professor's hand settled over his to guide it through drawing a particular line, Steve thought his heart would punch its way right out through his ribcage and end up in a pathetic, bloody heap on the smudged papers.

A couple of hours passed like that before Loki left to get them some ice tea and a couple of sandwiches from the kitchen downstairs. While they ate the professor opened a large book on the desk, talking him through different techniques, and then he put the book away again so they could shuffle close once more, leaning in over the papers.

The intimacy of having shared a meal, even such a simple one, somehow made the rest of the lesson feel more intensely close than the first part. Steve could feel Loki's breath on his wrist, could see the man's pulse in the veins on the inside of his. Soon, Steve's fingers were so damp the pencil was slipping.

What happened next... Well, it wasn't something that happened, exactly. It was something he did. But it felt more like an out of body experience than anything else. As if his mind had nothing to do with his body's actions. 

As if from a distance, he could see Loki leaning in closer, his tangled, silky hair falling from his shoulder like a curtain between them. A pale hand came up to twist into the tresses, pulling them back, and then Loki turned to face Steve with an eyebrow arched. The tip of his tongue came to wet the side of his top lip, as if he was about to say something, but whatever it was he didn't get the chance. Because that was when it felt like a fuse burned in Steve's head, something short-circuited, and before he knew it he was leaning closer, stretching his thin neck as far as it would go, his eyes fixed on those pale, pink lips.

He was so fixed on them, actually, that he didn't notice the way his weight shifted toward the edge of his seat. So when he was just a couple of inches away, so close he thought he could already taste those lips, he lost his balance and nearly fell off his chair. At the last second he grabbed the edge of the desk and managed to throw a foot out, steadying himself, but the movement to the left made him close the distance to Loki's face a lot faster than he had planned, and his own lips almost crashed into the corner of Loki's mouth.

With a surprised, perhaps even startled flinch the professor pulled his head back. His eyes were wide, and more sharply turquoise than Steve had ever seen them, staring at his student in what had to be disbelief.

At least Steve knew that he himself was in disbelief. It wasn't possible that he had just done that! Professor Laufeyson had invited him into his home for a drawing lesson, and Steve had lost his mind, thinking this meant that the man wanted to be assaulted by some wet, messy kiss a five year old would have been embarrassed by.

As seconds stretched into ages, Loki still staring at him, Steve knew he had ruined everything after all. There would be no more private lessons. No more calling his professor ”Loki”. No more sweet smiles just for him.

He was going to cry. He just knew it.

Then something changed in the artist's face. His bright eyes narrowed in something that could have been amusement, his almost slack and parted lips now pulled up in a tiny smirk.

”Steve”, he purred. Yes, actually purred. ”I've never received such a sad excuse for a kiss in my life.” He didn't sound angry, though. Or disgusted or insulted. Loki sounded _pleased_. As if that sorry little kiss was the best thing that could have happened.

Before Steve's brain had a chance to catch up, change gears, realize that they had switched tracks completely, Loki was the one leaning in closer, even turning in his chair so he could face Steve more head on. His long, warm hand settled gently along Steve's jaw, holding him in place when his face came closer. Turquoise eyes flitted from Steve's lips to his unblinking eyes, and then back to his mouth.

”I'll show you how it's done”, Loki murmured. And then he did.

Even though his lips were so thin they were very soft, smooth as satin, and tasted of peaches and sugary sweetness from the ice tea. Instinctively, clumsily searching for more of the sweetness, Steve tried to turn his head against Loki's hand. It bumped their noses together, Loki's lips slid to the corner of his mouth, and Steve heard himself give a frustrated little whimper at his own failings.

”Easy.” It was a whisper against his lips, before Loki gently placed a little peck on them. ”Just let me.”

Steve pulled in a shaky breath through his nose when Loki's fingers combed into the wispy, fine hair on the side of his head. The thin lips settled on his again, firmer, the angle just right this time. While the air slowly slipped back out of him Steve felt himself melt into the kiss, the hold on his head, the warm, overwhelming presence as he gave in to Loki, and just let him.


	2. Three's a crowd

A week passed. A week where Steve did his best to keep his excitement contained and act just like everything was still perfectly normal – particularly during his time in professor Laufeyson's classes.

When Saturday finally came he once more got on the bus to get to his own, private lesson.

This time Loki was outside in the driveway when Steve approached the house. The professor was dressed in the same black pair of jeans and a dark green hoodie, and he was standing right by the still just as offensively pink car parked outside the garage. His hip was resting against the side of it, his arms loosely folded over his middle. His eyes were fixed on a man Steve hadn't noticed at first, who was leaning in under the open hood of the car, arms buried in the engine. A mechanic, most likely, probably there to fix the car for him. Even though there was something too intent and warm in Loki's expression to be directed at a hired worker.

All Steve could see of the stranger at first was legs covered in worn and slightly torn, blue-gray jeans and his bent back, the muscles there defined enough to show through even the pale gray cloth of his oil-stained t-shirt. Then the man stood up straight, pulled a rag from his belt to wipe his hands clean, and as he turned his head to face Loki, Steve got a better look at him. He was shorter than the professor – but then most people were – and seemed more solidly built, not exactly stocky, but made of sturdier stuff. Hips and chest slightly wider, rather impressive biceps flexing when his hands worked with the greasy piece of cloth. His short, thick hair was a dark brown mess and the colour went well with his golden skin and the dark eyes, which seemed to dominate his handsome face. A goatee was formed into sharp angles around a soft, full mouth. That mouth moved as he said something to Loki, and even though Steve was still too far away to hear the words he could see the smile on the plush lips and the glow in his eyes, just as warm as the one directed at him in turn.

Then the man's brown eyes flicked to the side, catching the movements of Steve walking down the road, and he did a noticeable double-take, turning his head to watch as Steve came closer. Something in that look made Steve think he had gotten the relationship between the two men by the car completely wrong. All at once Steve felt very much like an intruder, and his steps were turning slow and hesitant.

As the dark man turned, Loki's attention shifted to Steve as well. For a brief moment he looked blank, as if he couldn't remember who Steve was and what he was doing there, but then a little smile pulled at his lips as he faced the other man again.

”I think I forgot to mention it, but I'm giving Steve here private lessons.”

Something hard glinted in the dark eyes when they returned to Loki. ”Of course you are.” The words sounded short and clipped.

And then Steve couldn't keep pretending he didn't know what he was looking at here.

This man wasn't a stranger there to help Loki with his old car. The fact that there was no other car in sight just drove the point home even more. A mechanic would have come in a car of his own, probably something big and loaded with tools, but there was nothing.

He had to realize that a week ago he had been sitting in this house kissing a man who shared it with someone else. And he had come back there today hoping more than anything that it would happen again.

His heart, which had been soaring on a warm current of joy for a week, was suddenly and rudely reminded of the harsh, inevitable reality of gravity as it came crashing down into the pit of his stomach.

Steve couldn't believe that he had done something like that, that he had apparently turned into his father, with no regard for fidelity and common decency. But at the same time a part of him stubbornly pointed out that this wasn't all on him. He'd been sure that the worst thing he had done was going after a professor teaching him, one kind enough to put extra effort into helping him, at that. That had been bad enough, but it had felt all right when he realized that Loki didn't mind, that he actually seemed interested in turn. Because yes, that first, clumsy kiss had been Steve losing control of himself, he knew that. But the the ones following it? That had been all Loki.

And what did that say about the man he admired so fiercely?

Without him noticing it his feet had stopped moving altogether when he reached the top of the driveway, and he stood there staring helplessly at the two men watching him in turn. Loki's eyes, emerald green as they reflected the light from the garden, were bright and pleased and the professor looked happy to see him, despite everything. The brown eyes on the man beside him had turned even darker on the other hand, and there was a tenseness on his face, making his lips thinner. He was obiously not happy to see Steve at all.

Loki raised a hand and made a little ”come over here” gesture, moving only his fingers.

Steve hesitated, but then he got himself moving again. Disobeying a direct order didn't feel right.

The stranger's dark eyes followed his every movement as he came closer and stopped by Loki's side. They narrowed a hint when Loki's still raised hand settled on Steve's closest shoulder, squeezing it just a little.

”Steve, this is Anthony Stark.”

A sharp smirk twitched on the man's still tense lips and was gone again. ”Don't listen to him”, he said, his voice made lighter with apparent effort. ”For some reason I'm Anthony to him, but to the rest of the world I'm Tony.”

”Nice to meet you, Tony”, Steve said, more on auto-pilot than from actually meaning the words. His mother had raised him to always be polite, so that's what he was. Maybe it could even help him hide the way his heart was currently falling to pieces?

A brittle moment of silence followed before Loki's warm hold on his shoulder became a little firmer still. 

”Steve came for a lesson in drawing, and I believe it's time we got started.” He tilted his head a little, eyes on Tony. ”Will you keep working?”

”No.” It was something bordering on a growl. Tony turned to the car and closed the hood, a bit harder than what was probably strictly necessary. ”Not in the mood.”

”Well, then.” Loki's voice was soft, soothing, but he didn't say anything else. He just offered a tiny smile for Steve before he turned them both around and led his student toward the house.

Steve heard Tony follow them inside, and he carefully kept out of the man's way while they kicked their shoes off. Lucky, really, because Tony just stalked past them into the house, turned right, and a moment later Steve heard the sound of a cupboard door being slammed too hard, just like the hood of the pink car, and the tap running.

The professor gave a little sigh. ”Would you excuse me for a moment, Steve?”

He nodded quickly, and Loki turned to follow Tony into the kitchen.

Steve knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop himself from sneaking to the edge of the wall of the entrance hall, peeking around the corner.

Tony was standing by the sink, back to the room, staring out through the window above the kitchen counter. The glass he had used to drink some water a moment ago was standing to the side, his hands, curled into fists, resting on the polished metal edge by his hips.

Loki stepped up right by his side, close, but not actually touching him. For a few moments they both just stood there, still and silent, and when someone at last spoke, it was Tony.

”You should have said something.” It was a sullen mutter, and Steve could just barely make the words out from his hidingplace by the wall.

”I know.” Loki slowly raised a hand and cupped it around the back of Tony's head, the slim fingers combing into the man's thick, brown hair. Steve felt his own hands clench painfully hard by his sides. ”But you'll forgive me.”

There came a little huffing noise from Tony, and then he at last seemed to relent and turned his head to look at Loki, that hand still in his hair. The little curve to the corner of Tony's mouth looked just a hint too sharp to be a real smile. ”I know.” He leaned closer then, reached up to cover the inches in height difference, and caught Loki's lips in a kiss.

It was a very different kiss from the one Steve had shared with the artist, he was honest enough with himself to admit that, even when his fingernails were cutting painful, red crescents into his soft palms. There was nothing of the clumsy fumbling – even though that had of course been all Steve's fault – and no hesitant, uncertain need to feel the other out. He knew this was a kiss between two men who knew each other intimately well, who were as completely comfortable with the other's body as they were with their own.

Loki tilted his head down in just the right angle to let his lips settle softly but firmly on Tony's. No clashing of teeth, no noses bumping into each other. It was slow and elegant, their bodies shifting and turning, like magnets pulling the other closer, but it was also deep and lingering. 

Steve pulled back from the corner and clutched his bag harder, waiting for the moment Loki would come back to lead him up to the studio, carefully trying to block out anything he might hear from the kitchen. He very much didn't want to think about what was happening in there at the moment, because if he thought about how hurt Tony had to be, about Loki trying to make it better, he would have to think about his own part in all of it and that made him feel like the most horrible person alive.

Just a minute or two later Loki emerged from the kitchen, offered Steve an almost apologetic little smile, and gestured for him to follow up the spiral staircase, just like last time. 

The lesson was very similar to the first one as well. The closeness, the time alone, Loki's intense attention and focus on him and him alone, it was all making the air between them feel electrified. But this time there was a conflict brewing inside Steve that was even stronger than before. What he wanted had already been clearly inappropriate then, but now? Now it was so very, very wrong. 

Loki's breath on his hands now made him want to crawl out of his own skin to get away from the way his entire being screamed with the need to get _more_.

Somehow he got through the lesson, but honestly he didn't think he would remember anything of what it had been about later.

When the four hours they had agreed on had passed, Loki let him pack his things in silence and then followed him downstairs. The house had started to turn darker, and Steve noticed a line of light shining under the door closest to the huge plant beside the stairs. He wondered if that was the bedroom and if Tony was in there, waiting for Loki to kick Steve out.

That thought refused to leave him as he pulled on his shoes and jacket, making him feel even worse.

”I'm sorry.” The words were out of him before he could stop them, just as he had been about to open the door and leave.

”Why?” Loki cocked his head, eyes fixed on Steve's face, making him look a lot like a bird of prey.

”I didn't know that you... Tony. I never knew. I wouldn't have...” He faltered. ”I'm sorry”, he repeated, helplessly.

The artist slowly shook his head then. ”No, don't be sorry, Steve. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Then he must have seen Steve start to open his mouth, because he shook his head harder, cutting his student off. ”No, Anthony doesn't think so either.”

Steve felt himself blush. Was he that easy to read?

Loki stepped closer, a smile curling his lips, and combed a hand into Steve's hair. It was still too long, he needed to have it cut, but Loki didn't seem to mind. He just ran his hand through the blond strands, rubbing the fine, fly-away hair between his fingertips, like he was enjoying the feel of the texture.

”He just needs to get to know you better”, he murmured, velvety soft now, leaning down a little. ”Just like I want to.” And then he leaned in even closer, hand still in Steve's hair, and placed a butterfly-light kiss on his slightly parted lips. When he pulled back, his eyes were locked on Steve's. ”Don't be sorry.”

All Steve could do was stare back, mouth still open, and then nod. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing with. That they should get to know each other better? That he shouldn't be sorry? Both? It didn't matter. Right then, all he could say was yes. To anything.

But then he made himself suck in a breath and instead ask a question. ”Should I come back next week, Loki?” His eyes fell to the shoulder strap of his bag when he started talking, running his fingers over it nervously.

There was a little pause before Loki answered. ”If you want to. My offer still stands. Nothing has changed on my part.”

Steve had to use some force to raise his head and tilt it back so he could face the taller man again. Loki's face was unusally gentle, and Steve had to swallow. ”Will... will Tony be here next time as well?”

The almost sad smile, with a hint of compassion, made him sure that Loki knew exactly what he had meant by that question. ”Anthony will always be here, Steve.”

He nodded, more or less to himself, and returned to watching his fingernails scraping over the glossy, woven fabric of the shoulder strap. That came as no surprise. He had already guessed what the answer would be. What he hadn't known was what his own reaction would be to that answer. He wasn't sure he knew that part, still.

What he _should_ do was say thanks but no thanks and leave, never to return. That would be the best thing for his fragile heart, and for his at least as fragile sanity, really. He knew that was the only decision that made sense. But sense didn't have that much to do with this anymore, and he knew that too. Because the real question wasn't if he would do the right thing and step away. The question was if he wanted, needed, craved the attention Loki gave him – no matter what kind of attention – badly enough that he would be willing to have it even knowing that he was sharing the man with someone else. Was he desperate enough to do that?

Stupid question, really.

Of course he was.

Steve met Loki's brilliant eyes and just knew that the man was expecting him to say no. And that if he did, Loki would let him go. That he would understand that this was all too much. But he could also see the spark of hope in the shimmering, sea-green depths, hope that Steve wouldn't say no, after all.

”I'll be back next week”, he said, at last, and saw that spark turn to a flame. 

The artist gave him a slow, sweet smile. ”You're welcome, Steve.”

It was only later, on the bus back into the city, that he started to reflect on Loki's words. _”He just needs to get to know you better. Just like I want to.”_ He frowned at the falling dusk, letting his fingers slide over the spot on his lips where Loki had kissed him goodbye. If that was the way Loki wanted to get to know him, did that mean the same was true for Tony?

Steve shook his head, dismissing the thought. That was just crazy.

Wasn't it?

* * *

Steve hesitated with his fingertip just an inch away from the doorbell when he stood outside the door of the red brick house the next week. He'd struggled wildly with himself about even going in the first place, but in the end the importance of the lessons with Loki had won out. That was what he was there for – an art lesson. Absolutely nothing else.

Loki would be a teacher, he would be a student there to learn, and that was all. With this decision held firmly in the front of his mind, Steve finally rang the bell. 

What little stability he had built for himself instantly crumbled when the door opened, though, and he saw that he was face to face with Tony. Dressed in the same torn jeans and an only slightly cleaner t-shirt than last week. Steve tried to prepare himself for the awkward, hostile interaction no doubt coming.

”Hi, Steve”, Tony greeted him with a smile, one that was small but seemed honest. The dark, hard edge in his brown eyes was gone and replaced with something warmer, something looking like it could have been curiosity. ”Loki had to leave on an errand, but he should be back pretty soon”, he said while he stepped aside to let Steve enter the house. ”Come on in.”

For a moment Steve wondered if this was really the same person he had met a week ago. The attitude was so completely different, Tony's mouth so much softer now that all angry tension was gone from it, and now he noticed that Tony had a very pleasant voice, just like Loki. It wasn't the same kind of voice, no flowing swirl of poetry, but it was... intimate, and warm and drawing Steve in. Literally. Before he had thought about it he was inside the house, getting shoes and jacket off.

”You want something to drink while you wait?” Tony was leaning with a muscular shoulder against the very corner where Steve had been peeking into the kitchen last time. His arms loosely crossed over his chest.

Steve grabbed his bag off the floor and stood up straight. ”Only if you're having something. No need to get something out just for me.”

”Not like it's a lot of work.” With a shrug Tony pushed himself off the wall and walked into the kitchen, the sound of the refrigerator door being pulled open reaching Steve just moments later. ”There's ice tea in the fridge. That okay?”

The memory of Loki's mouth tasting of peach and sugar made Steve want to yell _”no!”_ , but of course he couldn't. So he just followed Tony around the corner and nodded in answer when he saw a glance with raised eyebrows find him. Then the man promptly disappeared behind the door to the fridge again.

”Have a seat”, he said while his back was still to the room, placing the glass jug he had taken out on the counter while he picked glasses from a cupboard.

By the time he turned back, hands full, to walk over to the table, Steve had already put his bag on the floor by the leg of the table and was sitting down in a chair, his back to the livingroom wall. He hid his clammy hands in his lap, curling to nervous fists, while Tony filled the two glasses and then sat down in the chair by the end of the table, as close to Steve as he could get, really.

Steve sipped from his glass and felt Tony's eyes rest on him, curiously searching his features as if the answer to some riddle of the universe was hidden there, and cast around in a near panic for something to say. Then he glanced out the window over the table, and got an idea. Something he had actually wanted an answer to for a couple of weeks now.

”Is that your car?” Steve nodded his head to the side, in the direction of the driveway. ”Outside?”

”The strawberry cheesecake?” Tony gave a snort. ”Not bloody likely! It's a great car, even better now that I've had a few weeks to tinker with it, but damn that colour is an eyesore, isn't it?”

”I was a bit worried when I thought it might be Loki's”, he admitted. And then felt a blush. Why had he said something like that? He had just tipped his head forward to stare down into the amber liquid in his glass when he heard Tony give a little huff of a laugh, and he had to look up again.

”Would have put a dent in his image, I bet.” The dark eyes glimmered with amusement. ”No, it's not ours, just a car I work on. That's what I do. Fix up and rebuild and repair cars. Mostly those old ones, or rare models, the valuable pieces of machinery people are reluctant to leave in an ordinary shop. Then they come to me and I take care of their babies like they were my own, and return them in better shape than ever.” Then he tilted his head to the side. ”I do have one of my own, though. Want a look?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, not really that interested, but then he shrugged. ”Sure.” He had nothing to do until his lesson, anyway.

So they finished their sugary drinks and put their shoes on. Tony led the way back outside and then through a door into the garage, holding it open so Steve could step into the dark space. While the door swung closed behind them Tony hit the switch and the garage was at once bathed in bright, white light.

The area closest to them was empty, so that had to be where Loki's Toyota was usually parked. In the other end of the garage there was a car, though, and one that made even Steve's heart beat a little faster. He wasn't into cars, he didn't know a lot about them, how they really worked, what made one superior to another or in what way. But he didn't need that kind of knowledge to see that this one was absolutely gorgeous. It was low and sleek and shaped into subtle, elegant curves. Slim and lean-looking, and even standing still it seemed to breathe speed and power. The colour was a bright, vivid blue, like the high summer sky on a clear day.

”It's stunning”, he said, surprised at how true it was. He'd never been impressed by a car before.

”I know.” There came a happy little sigh from Tony. ”Had it since I was just a kid. When I die I'll have them bury me in it.”

Steve couldn't really understand that love for something made out of metal, even if he could see the beauty in it. In its own way he guessed it was art, but not one he could grasp. That made him wonder...

”What do you and Loki have in common?” He blurted the question out before thinking it through, and then realized it sounded horrible. Blushing, he threw a startled look Tony's way. ”I mean, you seem to have such different interests.” Steve swallowed at the sort of blank look Tony was giving him, and then hurried to continue. ”Not that that's a bad thing, I just -”

”Hey, it's okay, I get it.” Tony suddenly looked even more amused than he had in the kitchen. ”You might be surprised, though.” 

He made a ”come along” gesture and walked toward a corner of the garage where he opened another door, one leading to a ramp that had to descend in under the house, if Steve's guess was correct. Tony walked down into the darkness below, hit another switch when they reached the basement floor, and the same kind of bright, white light showed a cluttered space so large it had to be the same size as the house on top of it. There were worktables scattered on the concrete floor, strange machinery and devices Steve couldn't even begin to name or even guess the purpose of, and then there were... He blinked, even more stunned than he had been by the car. There were _sculptures_. That was the only word he had for the creations gleaming like jewelery here and there in the workshop. Or was it more of a studio? Except one very different from Loki's in the attic.

Most of the creations were humanoid in shape, robot-like. Or maybe some sort of futuristic suits of armour. All gleaming chrome and polished lacquer, their limbs surprisingly sleek, making them look like they could begin to move at any moment. Two of them were placed together and drew Steve's eye more than the others. One was a dark green, almost the exact same shade as Loki's car, and that one was also taller than the other one, which was sharply contrasting it with its hot rod red. Both sparkled with gold instead of chrome. Each of the sculptures had a hand raised to the stern, almost glaring face of the other, as if they were trying to find out if the other one was real but not quite believing it yet.

It took Steve a while to be able to take his eyes off those, but when he did they settled on a completely different work in the middle of the room, bigger than any of the others. Clearly still sort of a work in progress, but finished enough that he could tell what it was supposed to be.

Mouth dropping open, Steve stepped closer, staring.

The central sculpture was a horse. It was made out of metal, just like the humanoids, and seeing this one Steve started to realize it was all parts of cars, torn up and reshaped into something so different he hadn't figured it out until he saw that the horse's chest was made out of an engine. The powerful animal was just as sleek as the other creations, as sleek as the car upstairs, rearing up on its strong hind legs, partly supported on a long, curling tail made out of lengths of what looked like bike chain. Its front legs were kicking out, wild and defiant, head pulled back, teeth bared, ready to strike, a long mane made of more chain. Most of it was just gray metal, some parts silvery, but its back, neck and head were an iridescent petroleum green, shifting colour like oil in the sunlight.

Steve didn't notice he had walked all the way up to it until he placed a careful hand on the animal's flank. He almost expected to feel it breathe. Then he respectfully pulled his fingers away and turned to look at Tony's face. The man seemed curious again, waiting for his reaction.

”Horsepower”, Steve got out, at last.

And Tony's face split into the widest grin Steve had ever seen. He walked closer, stopping ehere he could lean back against one of the tables. 

”Exactly”, he said. ”That?” Tony pointed up at the horse. ”That's what I see when I look at a really great car. I can't draw it. I'm fucking useless with pen and paper, to be honest. But I can build it.”

Steve looked back at the sculpture and he got it. The love for the kind of roaring power hidden under a polished metal shell. He hadn't gotten it before, but yes, he could see it now. This was as if Loki's art, the kind Steve could understand, had met the craft of the car upstairs. Together it had created something completely new.

”This is amazing.” He faced Tony again. ”Really amazing.”

”Thanks.” Tony turned more serious, his head tilting thoughtfully to the side while he regarded Steve in silence for a few moments. ”He told me you're pretty damn talanted.”

No need to ask who he was suddenly talking about. Steve cleared his throat. ”He did?”

”He did. Not that he had to, really. If he offered you private lessons you have to be.” Tony gnawed absently on the side of his bottom lip for a moment. ”He'd have to see something special in you to invite you here.”

”But you wish he hadn't?” Something about Tony really seemed to make Steve speak completely without filters.

”Yeah, well, Loki also told me you're bright. And have a keen eye. So I'm pretty sure you noticed I wasn't really happy about things the first time we met.”

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced away.

”I figured”, Tony continued, obviously taking this for the admission it was, and Steve dared to look back up. The bearded face was soft, a hint of a smile on the full lips, so much darker pink than Loki's. ”I wasn't angry with you, though, because you've done nothing wrong. I was angry with _him_. For surprising me. He knows I hate surprises. Even really nice ones.” The big, brown eyes made a quick sweep down Steve's front at that, and when they settled on his face again Tony was smiling outright.

_What?_

Pretty sure his ears were about to catch on fire, Steve couldn't help looking away again.

”You've got a crush on him, don't you?” The question was far more gentle than Steve had expected. Far more gentle than he thought he deserved.

He couldn't look at Tony's face this time, so instead he watched the man's blunt, strong-looking fingers – so different from Loki's elegantly tapered digits – play with a screwdriver he must have picked from the worktable when Steve wasn't looking. At last he made himself give a little jerk of a nod. No use denying that, was there? It had to be glaringly obvious.

”Can't say I blame you. I mean shit, the first time I saw him... That's like, what? About fourteen years ago by now? Damn, now I feel old. Yeah, anyway. The first time I saw him, I think I fell in love right there and then, on the spot. He was such an arrogant bastard you have no idea.” Tony chuckled a little. ”It was like looking in a mirror. Except one of those curved ones that makes you look taller, you know?”

Unable to hold back a little smile, Steve raised his head and nodded again, a slower and more controlled movement this time. Yes, he could get that. Tony was probably four or five inches taller than Steve, but since Loki was about a foot taller, that still left a fair few inches between Tony and Loki as well.

”Hey, how about that?” Tony suddenly grinned at him, wide and white and genuine. ”You've got a really pretty smile. You should use it more often.”

Was Tony... flirting with him? Was that what was happening here? It seemed too unlikely to be true, but no matter how Steve tried to turn it over in his mind he kept coming back to that as the only explanation that made at least some sense. And again he remembered Loki's words from their goodbye last time. The idea that they might both want to get to know him in _that_ way had felt crazy then. Still felt crazy! But maybe it was also true?

”Guess people should give me more reasons to smile, then”, he heard himself answer, the smile still firmly in place on his face despite the confusion on the inside.

Wait... Was he flirting with Tony, too? 

”I'm all for that.” Tony's grin stayed in place as well, his eyes showing a pleased sparkle.

”I should have known you would trick him into coming down here.”

Both of them turned around at the sound of Loki's amused voice. Steve with a startled, maybe even slightly guilty twitch. Tony as slowly and calmly as if he had known Loki was there long before he had spoken up.

Loki was standing in the doorway, smiling, hands settled on his narrow hips.

”Hey!” Tony mock glared at him, not really successful in hiding his own smile as he did. ”Steve happens to think my stuff's amazing, so shut your trap.”

With a well-practiced eyeroll Loki turned to start walking back up to the garage. ”Just make sure you let him go before all the daylight's gone.” And with that he had disappeared up the ramp.

Tony sighed. ”Yeah, he's right. You'd better get going so you can have your lesson.” He bent a little at the waist, coming closer while still leaning against the table. ”Was nice talking to you though, Steve.” And his smile then was almost as sweet as the one Loki had given him.

”It was”, Steve agreed, and this time he even meant it.


	3. Share and share alike

The whole house was full of the rich, delicious aroma of fish cooking when Steve and Loki came climbing down the spiral staircase after their lesson the following week.

Tony was flipping through a magazine, lounging in the armchair across from the huge couch filling the corner of the livingroom area opposite the stairs, his legs propped up on a footstool. He looked up when he heard them come down from the attic, greeting Loki with a warm smile and Steve with something that looked like a little salute.

”I was hoping you were about done”, he said, getting out of the chair and dropping his reading material on the coffee table before he stepped closer to where they had come to a halt in the middle of the room. ”Food should be ready pretty soon.” Then he gave Steve a speculative look. ”You want to stay for dinner?”

”Me?” Steve blinked and grabbed his bag harder, as if it could help him. ”Oh, I don't want to bother you. I should probably get home and -”

Tony interrupted him with a snort. ”I doubt you could be a bother even if you tried.” He shrugged while a little smile curled his lips up. ”Besides, there's half a salmon in the oven. Not even we can finish that off between the two of us in one sitting. And we wouldn't ask you to stay if we didn't want you to say yes.”

Hesitant, Steve looked from one expectant face to the other, before he settled on Loki's. The professor had been quiet so far, and he needed confirmation that they actually both wanted him there. ”You really want me to stay?”

”We do”, Loki confirmed, and Steve felt the man's fingers brush by his elbow in a light caress.

”All right...” He nodded slowly, feeling warmth spread across his skin from the touch. ”I'll stay.”

Moments later Steve was swept up in the domestic whirlwind that was Loki's and Tony's everyday life. He was placed on the same chair by the kitchen table where he had been sitting when Tony had offered him ice tea last time, the first chair on the side by the wall dividing the kitchen from the livingroom. From there he had a perfect view of the kitchen and could watch the two men finish the preparations for dinner. Which was a lot more captivating than Steve would had ever guessed it could be.

Loki found a bottle of wine in the fridge, opened it expertly and poured two glasses, one for himself and one to place on the table in front of Steve. Tony didn't get one, and he didn't ask for one either, so Steve assumed he had no interest in wine. Or perhaps alcohol? He didn't ask.

When he sipped the offered wine he found that it had just enough of a hint of bubbles to tickle his tongue, the taste both richly sweet and fresh. He took a larger swallow and felt it warm his stomach, making him relax a bit more into the comfortable chair.

By the stove Tony alternated between checking on the salmon in the oven and heating butter in a pan, where he then proceeded to fry stalks of green asparagus, and later some snow peas, just enough to get them warm but still stay crispy. While he worked he also talked, tossing words over his shoulder, telling Steve about how he had finally finished his work on the ”strawberry cheesecake”, as he still referred to the pink car, before he continued to list the other cars he had worked on recently, the make and year and what he'd fixed on each of them.

Until Loki stepped up by his side and tugged at the curls at the nape of his neck, speaking into Tony's ear in a sort of stage whisper obviously meant to be heard across the room. ”Stop boring Steve, Anthony. He'll never want to stay for dinner again if you keep it up.”

Maybe it was the wine and the warm sensation it had spread in his chest. Maybe it was the obvious implication that he would be welcome to stay with them for dinner again in the future. Whatever it was it made Steve giggle, like a delighted child, and Tony threw him a grin and a wink at the sound of his amusement. But then the man complied and talked about his other work instead, the metal sculptures in the basement, and Steve did find that more interesting.

In the meantime Loki had opened the fridge again and picked out eggs, oil, and a few other things Steve couldn't tell what they were from across the room. Then he found a large bowl and a whisk and started mixing something together. Judging by the smell spreading in the kitchen Steve thought at least one of the unknown ingredients was vinegar.

Watching Tony and Loki prepare dinner was fascinating. They were so in tune it was like seeing a single entity at work, only split up into two physical parts, moving as if they could read each other's mind. They handed over things without the other having to ask for what they needed, they moved out of each other's way so smoothly it was like well-practiced choreography, and now and then they exchanged brief glances, a subtle touch here and there – fingers sliding over each other when they picked out plates and cutlery, shoulders touching when they shared the sink to wash their hands – and it was such a natural part of the whole that Steve was sure they didn't even know they were doing it.

As he studied the way they interacted Steve was suddenly struck by the thought of what two people with that kind of close connection would be like together in bed. His own (very, very few) experiences had all been just as awkward and fumbling as that first clash of a kiss with Loki, but after the kiss he had later seen the professor share with Tony he knew their intimate moments together had to be something entirely different.

Before he could stop himself he was trying to picture it, with all the vivid, rich mental imagery of a talented visual artist.

Loki on his back, hair like a black halo around his pale face, a hand twisted into the sheet above his head, long, lean legs wrapped around Tony's hips as the shorter man moved over him with all the power and ceaselessness of a rolling wave. Their eyes locked, their breaths mingling...

Steve had to shatter the image there, tear it apart and shove it aside, completely confused. Why was he imagining stuff like that? And – even more baffling – why was he undeniably aroused by the thought? Knowing that there was already a man in Loki's life was still painful to him, so shouldn't this be as well? Oh, god, what was wrong with him? He could feel his cheeks burn with a blush and tried to hide by looking down into his glass; but not before he noticed Loki watching him with a worryingly knowing smirk playing in the corner of his mouth.

He kept his eyes locked on the glinting surface of his wine for a while even so, until he had his breathing back under control and was at least fairly sure his face was no longer red as a stop light. Then he went back to watching the two men work, thinking of absolutely nothing else while he did.

Sitting there alone at the table he could have felt lonely and excluded, but they were the perfect hosts, really. Tony kept talking about his work for a while, but then started asking Steve about his studies, about the progress he was making since starting his private lessons (he was too shy to claim to have made any, but Loki turned from his chores long enough to ensure Tony that Steve was indeed improving and that the lessons were time well spent), then about where he lived, how the hell he could stand those horrible dorms, and how he was enjoying student life. Loki hummed and smiled at the appropriate places in their conversation, and came by the table after a while to refill Steve's glass, and run a hand through his hair. The long fingers were warmer than usual from the work in the kitchen.

When they were ready to set the table Steve started getting up from his seat to help them - and was immediately pushed back down by Tony's heavy hand settling on his shoulder.

”Oh no you don't”, he said, smiling and rubbing a thumb gently over Steve's collarbone where it stood out sharply even under his shirt. ”You just stay put, and let us take care of everything.”

Blushing again, at least this time for a less confusing reason, Steve stayed in his chair and watched them set out three plates, cutlery, glasses, and finally a huge dish with the salmon and the fried greens, glossy with butter and sprinkled with sea salt. Loki's addition to the meal turned out to be a bowl of mayonnaise, creamy and golden. It all looked delicious.

His wineglass was refilled again but he decided to leave it untouched for a while, since he was already starting to feel the alcohol a bit more than he was completely comfortable with. Small as he was, and inexperienced with drinking, he felt the effects quickly.

Tony got out a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and opened it to take a swallow, not even bothering with a glass. Loki gave him a displeased look from under his long, black lashes, but said nothing. Steve guessed that was a battle the professor had given up years ago, even though the defeat still stung, obviously.

Loki sat down at the end of the table with Steve on his left and Tony on his right, and then they all served themselves and started eating. It was just as good as it had looked, and Steve made sure to tell them that.

”So, I was curious.” Tony put his fork down on the side of his plate, a piece of asparagus still scewered on it, and leaned in over the table. ”How come you got into drawing?”

Steve swallowed a mouthful and gave a little onesided shrug. ”Just by chance to begin with, really.” He took a careful sip of the wine. ”I wasn't exactly a healthy kid, so I spent more time than I like to think about in bed. And even when I was sort of healthy I wasn't allowed out when it was cold or wet, because my lungs just couldn't handle it.” He poked at a pea and glanced up to see them both listening, Tony still leaning closer and Loki leaning back, casually holding his glass. ”So, obviously I never made a lot of friends, TV gets boring pretty quickly, and I had to do something. One day I just found a pencil and started drawing. It was something to do.”

”It's not just something to do now, though, right?” Tony raised an eyebrow as he sipped from his beer.

”No.” He dropped his eyes to the plate and the scraps of salmon that were all that was left on it, except for that lonely snow pea. ”It's all I can do now. So I want to be the best I can be.”

There were a few silent moments then, as Loki and Tony looked over at each other. There was something passing between them, something significant, but he had no idea what it might be. Steve just let his eyes drop and took the chance to scrape his plate all clean, placing his utensils neatly across the right side of it when he was done.

”You're not thinking you are done eating already, are you?” Loki sounded almost worried.

Steve's head jerked up in surprise. ”What?”

The pale face was pinched in a concerned frown. ”You've barely had enough for a kitten.”

”Oh.” He blinked down at his plate again and tried to think back to how large – or perhaps small – his portion had really been. Plenty of food had never been something taken for granted when he was a kid; his mother worked hard, but his father tended to drink hard, too, and the money slipped away as fast as they were made. And what with always being sick and tied to the bed, he'd never had much of an apetite anyway. ”I guess? I've never eaten a lot.” He looked back up at the still unhappy face and hurried to try to make it all better. ”It was really nice, though! I mean, it's not because I didn't like it.”

”That's good to hear.” And at last Loki softened into a smile ”Then you won't mind me giving you some more.” There wasn't even a hint of a question in the words; they were more like an order. And then Loki shuffled forward and a little to the side in his seat, picked a snow pea from his own plate, dipped in the creamy mayonnaise, and reached over to hold it up by Steve's mouth.

The message really couldn't be clearer.

Steve still hesitated. Eyeing Loki's face was no help, though, because he just looked firmly committed to the idea. Glancing over at Tony, he found that the man was leaning if anything even closer, his lips slightly parted in anticipation, as if he was the one about to open his mouth and accept being fed.

So the only thing he could really do, besides getting up and walking out – and that really wasn't a reasonable option anyway – was accepting it himself.

Loki gave a pleased little sigh as he slipped the oily vegetable between Steve's lips and let him have it. But pleased obviously didn't equal satisfied, because as soon as Steve had accepted the offered morsel Loki turned back to his plate and picked up a pice of the pink, flaky meat of the fish.

This time he didn't even bother to hesitate. There was really no use. So Steve just accepted the piece of salmon, this time feeling Loki's thumb brush by the corner of his mouth to wipe it clean. Just as he accepted the asparagus that came after it. And more salmon and peas. A couple of times he dared to let his eyes flit Tony's way again, only to find that the man was still watching just as intently, the beerbottle held almost by his own lips but seemingly forgotten, hovering there uselessly.

When Loki's plate was mostly empty as well Steve was starting to feel almost uncomfortably full, but that seemed to be when the artist was finally satisfied that Steve had actually eaten as much as he should. So instead he turned to pick up Steve's glass and moved even closer so he could place it by his lips. For some reason he couldn't put words to Steve didn't even consider raising hs hands to take the glass. He just held still as he felt Loki's other hand cup the back of his head, holding it steady as he tilted the glass and made Steve's head tilt with it, letting him take a few sips. When the glass was taken away he realized that his eyes had slipped closed, and he blinked them open to find Loki's face very close, smiling like a contented cat. If he could, Steve was sure he would have purred.

”Better”, the man murmured, rubbing his fingertips through Steve's hair that way he seemed to like doing. ”Much better. I think we can consider dinner over and done with and leave the table, now.”

Steve wasn't in a position to protest it, so he just nodded and followed along when they led the way into the livingroom. There Loki settled him on the couch and sat down on the seat beside his, while Tony wandered over to the bar in the other corner and poured himself something amber into a low, wide glass before he joined them, sitting on Steve's other side. He felt a bit overwhelmed there, caught between them, stunned by the strangeness that had been the end of dinner, heavy with more food than he had eaten in a long time, more than a little tipsy from the wine. He didn't even try to participate in the conversation they started up, almost over his head, just leaned back in the couch and listened, eyes moving from one lively, animated face to the other. So different, moved by the same kind of intense passion.

After a little while Loki turned a smooth smile in Steve's direction. ”We're neglecting our guest, Anthony.”

”Can't have that.” Tony grinned around the rim of his glass before he took another sip, watching as Loki leaned into Steve's space, placing his own glass of wine by Steve's lips the same way he had done before.

Steve accepted a couple of sips, but when Loki took the glass away again he gave a sluggish shake of his head. ”I shouldn't drink anymore.”

”You don't have to, sweet thing.” Loki reached his arm out to put his glass on the coffee table, without taking his eyes off Steve even for a moment.

Shivering a little with an unexpected thrill of pleasure at the endearment Steve saw the man lean into his side, coming so close his face became a little unfocused to Steves already slightly blurred sight. He felt a hot hand curl around his jaw, fingertips in his hair, thumb stroking over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and turned his head a fraction into the touch without thinking, and without looking away from those deep-sea eyes. The colour was clear, even when the edges of everything was going out of focus.

Loki's mouth didn't taste of peaches and sugar now, but as sparkling as the wine they had shared. His lips were cool from the drink when they landed on Steve's, but the tongue behind them was hot.

In the back of his mind something was shifting around uncomfortably, trying to remind him that Tony was _sitting right there, for god's sake!_ He shouldn't be kissing Loki while the man in his life was at most a couple of feet away, watching it happen. But he couldn't not kiss Loki, either. His defenses were torn down, by the man's attention and his own want. An attack from two fronts he had been helpless to stop.

So all he could do was close his eyes and let it happen. Feel his back start to arch off the backrest, his body wanting to get closer still.

”That's it.” Loki did purr this time, as he slowly pulled back. ”So much better than the first try.”

Steve didn't even open his eyes, just slumped back in the seat, lips parted and feeling damp, heated and even swollen.

Then Loki's other hand moved in behind his head, slipping into his hair where it was tousled against the fabric of the cushion. And that hand held him, firmly but still gently, and turned his head a little to the right. Toward Tony. He knew that before he opened his eyes and saw the brown ones, so much closer than he had expected. They seemed huge, pupils dilated and endlessly black. Steve blinked and tried to turn his head back again, to find Loki. If it was to get away, for reassurance, or something else, he wasn't sure. And it didn't matter, because the hand holding his head wouldn't let him.

”Just stay put”, Tony murmured, voice warm and soothing. ”And let us take care of everything.”

Now, Tony wasn't really the one Steve wanted. Not the way he yearned for Loki. But it wasn't as if he actively _didn't want_ Tony, either. It was very hard not to want him, with that handsome face so close, expression so soft and kind despite the clear intent in his darkened eyes.

His kiss was very different from Loki's. There was the tickle of coarse but still surprisingly soft hairs in his goatee, his lips were much fuller, soft and somehow making Steve respond by pressing his own lips harder into them, feeling the velvety quality of them. Tony tasted of something much richer and darker than the wine, of woodsmoke and spice.

With Tony's mouth on his Steve could still feel Loki's fingers rub into his hair, holding his head in place at the same time. Even though he wasn't trying to turn away anymore. Loki's other hand was gently caressing the sensitive skin on his throat, over the muscles and tendons moving with the kiss, stroking and petting as if soothing a skittish animal. Perhaps that's what he was right now?

Tony's hands curved around the sides of Steve's chest, fingertips tracing his ribs as they flexed with his rapid breathing, before they moved down to his abdomen. When they turned and moved up again it was inside his shirt, seeking soft skin. The callouses on his hands felt rough, but Steve found that it wasn't unpleasant.

He wasn't used to being touched. Definitely not in this intimate way. There was mostly Bucky slinging an arm around his shoulders, playfully messing his hair, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek if he was feeling particularly affectionate some drunken night. Some shy kisses and a few fumbling nights with a couple of girls over the years. And that was it. Nothing that could have prepared him for four hands touching him at once, for one hot mouth letting his go only long enough for him to pull a few ragged breaths before his head was turned so another mouth could replace it.

Steve was floating, weightless and boyant. At the same time his body was lead-heavy and he couldn't move. Could barely make his lips shift to respond to the lingering, sweet kisses. The burning lines traced on his skin and the lips on his was all he knew - and then Tony's mouth was at his jaw, a tongue mapping the bone just below the thin, fair skin while Loki slowly, sweetly licked into his mouth, and that was it. Steve was gone. Lost.

Not that he passed out or anything, but his mind dissolved and he fell into a place where sensation was all he knew. Where there was no right or wrong. The men with him barely had names anymore. His every single connection to reality seemed cut, all his hesitation and unease erased. At least in this moment.

When the kisses stopped coming he barely noticed, a part of him just grateful to be able to breathe freely again. When the hands stopped caressing him and instead lay him down on the seats, before they left him completely, he did notice. But all he could do was give a miserable whine at the loss, his skin feeling too raw and still aching for more.

”Sleep now, sweet thing.” He thought he knew the voice but couldn't place it right then. ”You are doing so well.”

Steve smiled as he fell asleep, wrapped in the praise like a warm blanket.

And when he woke up, unfamiliar sunshine playing over his face, he was wrapped in an actual warm blanket. A dark green thing made of soft wool. Steve blinked, winced as the light seemed to burn his retinas, and raised a hand to shadow his face as he looked around, for a moment clueless as to his whereabouts. Then he saw the armchair, the spiral staircase, the enormous plant with its ribcage-like leaves, and he remembered. Parts of the night before were blurred, others were far too sharp at the edges, but he remembered it all.

His head felt heavy and sore, thoughts sluggish as they tried to piece everything together, and his stomach heaved in a worrying way as the picture became clearer.

What had he been thinking?

Actually, he knew the answer to that one – he hadn't been thinking at all. Right there and then it had all felt so strangely right. Accepting food from Loki's hand, feeling himself melt under Tony's heated gaze, kisses, hands stroking and caressing until he was tingling with the hyper-sensitivity.

Now it felt anything but right.

With trembling hands he pushed the blanket aside and carefully sat up, the movement making his head throb dully before it settled into a simmering ache again. Hungover, then. Not spectacularly, but enough to feel it. That just managed to make him feel even worse. He shouldn't have been drinking. That had been his first mistake.

At least all his clothes were still in place. The top and bottom buttons on his shirt were undone, but that could have happened while he was asleep. His jeans didn't seem to have been touched at all. Steve felt a little calmer when he discovered that they had kept it above the waist.

He stood up and walked across the room, heading for the bathroom, which he now knew was hidden behind the first door on the left in the entrance hall. When he passed the armchair he noticed that a t-shirt he recognized as the one Tony had been wearing the night before was tossed on the seat, as if removed and discarded in a careless hurry. Perhaps on the way to the bedroom, which was behind the door next to the bathroom. They had left him on the couch, to finish what they had started on their own.

A moment ago he had been relieved that they hadn't taken advantage of him. Now he felt almost... disappointed?

Shaking the thought away he continued to the bathroom. The door to the bedroom was carefully shut, as was the one connecting the bedroom to the bathroom. But he hadn't expected anything else.

Steve used the toilet, washed his hands and his face. When he looked up from drying himself on a towel he met his own eyes in the mirror. His skin looked grayish pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his blond hair was a mess. He sighed, wet his hands again and tried to tame the fine, tangled strands into some semblance of order. When he felt at least sort of successful he left the bathroom, carefully quiet, put his shoes and jacket on, unlocked and opened the front door. The freshly cold morning air hit him like a slap in the face, and he actually welcomed the sensation. It woke him up, brought him back to reality.

Clutching his bag close he walked toward the main road. He would probably have to wait for the bus for a while, but he didn't care. He couldn't stay here.

* * *

The rest of his Sunday passed in a haze of confused thoughts, and before night fell he found himself beginning to doubt his own sanity.

Steve was still reeling from the intensity and the intimacy, but a part of his heart was still feeling like a warm, glowing ember at the thought that for the first time in eight years someone genuinely seemed to care about his well-being. Or, well, nine years really. His mother had gotten sick when he was thriteen. She had lived for another year, but he had been the one to take care of her a lot of that time.

Since then he'd just had Bucky. And while he knew his friend loved him, in his way, it wasn't the kind of relationship where Steve was... taken care of. 

So when he started feeling hungry he remembered Loki's worried eyes and actually got up to make himself a sandwich, instead of the cup of tea he usually settled for. Even though he couldn't really explain to himself why.

* * *

Steve met Bucky for their more or less traditional Monday lunch, and Steve barely managed to put two words together during the meal. James gave him a concerned frown since even he noticed that something was off, but Steve just shook his head and blamed it on lack of sleep. It wasn't the first time that had happened, so Buck let it drop.

He dragged his feet going to the art history lecture and was late, again. So he had to sit in the front row, again.

Loki was in all things professor Laufeyson again, and Steve kept his eyes on his notebook the entire lecture. But never made any actual notes.

When the class was dismissed Steve was one of the last to get out of his seat. He was just turning to leave when he heard Loki's voice from the desk at the front of the classroom, saying his name. His school name, obviously. Here he was Mr. Rogers. But the voice wasn't the one belonging to the professor. Instead it was Loki's private tone, and Steve couldn't stop himself from turning toward it. Loki was standing beside the desk, all his papers and books already gathered up under one long arm. 

”Would you please follow me to my office?”

Steve eyed his own dusty shoes. ”Of course, professor.”

He followed silently in Loki's wake to his office door, like an obedient dog not even in need of a leash. There he waited while Loki unlocked the door, and then stepped inside when the man gestured for him to do so. After the professor followed Steve into the office he closed the door, and locked it again. Steve felt a shudder when he noticed that, not sure if it was fear or some sort of sick anticipation.

Loki didn't look at him while he stepped up to the desk, dropping his stack of papers and books on it. Then he at last turned, leaning back against the edge of the table, arms folded almost defensively across his chest. There was a frown on his face, shifting somewhere between concerned and displeased.

”You left”, he finally said, his voice sounding a bit frayed at the edges. ”Without saying anything.”

Steve shuffled his feet a little where he stood, couldn't find anything to say and tried to tell himself that there had been no question in there anyway.

”We were worried”, Loki continued when he saw that Steve wouldn't speak. ”We were afraid something had happened.” And it was clear that he didn't just mean _we were afraid something had happened to you_ , but also, and maybe even more so, _we were afraid we had scared you away_.

There was a stinging pinch of guilt in Steve's heart at that. He hadn't meant to make them worry. The fact that they more or less _had_ scared him away momentarily forgotten.

Those finely shaped, black eyebrows were drawn together over the bridge of Loki's long nose, shaping a collection of distressed little lines between them. His wide, liquid eyes, their colour darkened and deepened by emotion and now even more reminiscent of the ocean, were focused on Steve with an expression that almost stopped his heart.

He had heard about eyes being the windows to the soul, but that wasn't the way Loki's eyes looked right now. They weren't windows; they were stab wounds. As if Steve's thoughtless action had been a knife cutting him open, baring the soft and raw and vulnerable things inside. Making him hurt and bleed. It made something inside Steve himself shudder, wanting nothing more than to curl up at Loki's feet and cry. Because he had done that to Loki. He hadn't meant to, but he had.

”I'm sorry”, he heard himself whisper, voice wrecked and wet. ”I didn't think it mattered...”

All at once, Loki's face softened. His eyes were still glistening and pained, but his eyelids dropped down a little, hiding some of the wound. ”Oh, Steve...”, he murmured slowly and raised his arms, holding them out in a wordless invitation.

Steve dropped his bag on the floor and almost stumbled into the offered embrace, the height difference making his head come to rest against Loki's chest, his forehead just barely reaching the sharp clavicles. Long arms closed around his shoulders, a hand stroking the hair on the back of his head, soothing.

”Of course it matters”, Loki said, soft and gentle, and Steve closed his eyes to feel the deep voice rumble in the chest his cheek was pressed against. ”Everything you do matters.” The words sounded so sincere it made Steve shiver, because no-one had ever given him that kind of importance before.

That kind of power...

As if he had sensed Steve's thoughts, Loki bent his head down until he could mumble warm words into his hair. ”You could make us happy, Steve. So happy.” Or he could break their hearts. Loki didn't say the last part, but it still hung there between them. 

Steve shyly slipped his arms around Loki's back, snuggling his face closer into the wide chest. ”I want you to be happy”, he said, then swallowed. ”I just don't know... Well, I haven't made anyone happy in...” His voice hitched. ”In a really long time.”

”That's simple, sweet thing.” The long fingers combed in the too-long hair at the nape of his neck and gently tugged his head back until Loki could smile down at Steve's face as he cupped it in his hands. ”Just be the best you can be.”

He frowned a little, not sure he could, but... ”I'll try.”

”I know you will.” Loki's smile widened enough to show that tooth in his lower jaw, the one half hidden behind the ones beside it. ”And we will help you.”


	4. In your hands

The relief he felt when Loki forgave his hurtful mistake made Steve accept at once when Loki invited him for dinner again that night, even though it was Monday and almost a week until his next private lesson on Saturday. This wasn't actually about the lessons anymore, and Steve knew it.

During that dinner nothing out of the ordinary happened, really. Steve stayed away from the wine this time, true to his word Loki didn't try to make him drink any when he declined, and didn't feed him either. Possibly because this time Steve made sure to serve himself a properly sized portion and ate it all.

When he pulled his shoes and jacket back on, ready to leave, Loki and Tony stood in the entrance hall with their arms aroud each other's backs and watched him with looks resembling concern on their faces. He didn't understand why until Loki came to lean in and kiss him goodbye, stroking his hair and breathing a sigh by his ear. 

”Be careful out there, sweet thing”, he said as he straightened. ”It's already dark.”

And Steve once more felt that twinge of guilt in his heart, knowing that he had made them worry about his safety, and couldn't do more than nod. Of course he would be careful.

”Really, you should stay the night when you're out here this late”, Tony added as he stepped up to take Loki's place, settling a warm kiss on Steve's cheekbone. ”Just sleep here, and leave in the morning.”

The implied invitation in his words made Steve warm all over, not just where the soft lips had pressed against his skin.

”I'll think about it”, he promised.

And they seemed satisfied enough with that reply to let him go, just in time to reach the main road before the bus passed by without him.

He stayed for dinner again that Saturday after the usual lesson, and this time he couldn't say ”thanks but no thanks” when Loki offered him some red wine to go with the simply spectacular steaks Tony seared for them, and before the meal was on the table Steve had already finished one glass. The wine was almost as stunning as the meat, and it was probably a lot more potent than the white wine he'd been drinking last time because when Loki only placed two plates on the table Steve was prepared to accept that as reasonable.

Maybe the determined, intent and focused look in the professor's deep eyes had told him what to expect already. The look telling him that Loki would take care of him, no matter what.

So while Tony watched, perhaps even more avidly than last time, Loki cut the steak on his own plate and fed the tender strips to Steve by hand. Now and then wiping his lips clean with his thumb, only to then suck it clean between his own lips in turn. Every time he did that there came a little noise from Tony's side of the table, but Steve never dared to look over when that happened. He lost himself in the pleased glow in Loki's wide eyes, the satisfaction of his smile, the gentle steadiness in his hands as he gave Steve more of the rich, heady wine.

By the time this meal was over Steve wasn't just tipsy – he was outright drunk. The fact that Loki had made him eat his fill didn't help. When he went to stand, intent on catching the last bus into town, he almost fell over. He would have hit the floor like a sack of potatoes if Tony, who had been beside him to clear the table, hadn't seen him go down and moved to catch him.

”And where do you think you're off to, precious thing?”, he murmured into Steve's hair while he got him on his feet, holding him close to his chest.

When he managed to mumble something about the bus, Tony chuckled.

”No, that's not happening.” The man's strong, dark hand came to lift Steve's chin so Tony could see his face clearly. ”Look at you... You can't stand on your own, and barely keep your eyes open. You're not going anywhere.”

Steve was just sober enough to know that he was right. In this state he would probably never even make it to the end of their little side road. With his luck he'd end up somewhere out in the woods and never be found again. So when Tony half led, half dragged him to the couch and made him lie down he didn't even offer any protests or resistance. Especially since, just like last time, Tony didn't try to undress him. The mechanic just picked up the same soft and luxuriously warm blanket he'd slept under then, and draped it over him.

”There we are.” Blunt fingers ran through his hair down to the back of his neck, a single fingertip tracing the knobs of the vertebrae there. ”Sleep well.”

Steve made a little noise he had meant to be a ”thank you” it turned out he didn't have the strength for, and let his eyes slip closed. He let himself melt into the comfortable, plush seat and listened while the two men cleared up the last after dinner, murmuring softly between themselves in a way that didn't let Steve make out any words. Until a louder little burst of laughter made him blink and squint his eyes open.

It had been Loki laughing and he so rarely got to hear the artist really, honestly laugh that he had to see what had made it happen.

Across the room the door to the bedroom was pushed open. Steve had only ever seen it closed before, but he couldn't actually see anything of the room now either. Because Loki was standing in the doorway with his back leaning against the doorframe, his head tilted back so he was grinning widely up at nothing. The rest of the doorway was filled by Tony who was pressed into his front, one of Loki's slim, elegant hands held to his face. He was licking and sucking on the long, pale fingers, one after the other, eyes hooded under heavy lids, as if he was completely focused on whatever he could taste there.

Steak and red wine sauce, perhaps? Or was he searching for whatever taste Steve himself might have left behind on those fingers? Right then that strange thought made perfect sense.

After he had apparently satisfied himself that Loki's fingers were clean Tony let go of Loki's hand and reached up to latch on to the pale column of Loki's neck with his mouth instead, and the sight made something flip and clench strangely in Steve's gut. He wasn't sure if it was a good feeling or a really bad one, and before he had decided which the two men had moved away into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, leaving the room in darkness.

Like a chicken with its head tucked in under its wing Steve reacted to the darkness by promptly falling asleep, forgetting all about what he had seen.

He woke up some unknown amount of time later in the dark, confused and nauseous, again with no idea where he was at first, before the blurred memories reached him. Steve listened to the faint noises of the mostly unfamiliar house, the whirr and whine of the refrigerator, and watched shadows curl in the corners. The ribcage-like leaves of the plant by the stairs painted strange patterns over the wall, and the way his head was spinning made it seem like they were moving and dancing.

A terrifying lurch in his stomach made him realize he couldn't stay on the couch. He had to get to the bathroom – and fast, too.

Steve swallowed down a heave as well as he could, pushed the blanket away and scrambled up on the floor. He nearly stumbled over the footstool by the armchair but luckily managed to dodge it in the last moment so he could aim his wobbly, hurried steps into the entrance hall. There he wrenched the bathroom door open, nearly ran across the tiled floor so he could drop to his knees by the toilet, throwing up red wine and not even half-digested meat until his abdomen burned with the effort and his throat stung from the acid.

When his stomach was finally at ease Steve reached his hand up to flush but didn't have the strength to actually move once the stinking remains of his hangover were gone. Panting, he just leaned his aching head against the porcelaine. It was blissfully cool against his sweaty, overheated forehead. The same kind of soothing cold was seeping into his legs from the floor, and for a moment he considered just curling up and going back to sleep, just like this.

Steve didn't get the chance to do that, though, because right then he heard the door to the bedroom open, the soft slap of a bare foot on the tiles, and then the flip of a light switch. Suddenly there was no longer safe darkness to hide him, but the soft light from the lamps over the mirror behind him. Closing his eyes against the sudden sting, Steve heard himself give a miserable little moan. He wasn't sure if it was mostly from the physical pains and lingering nausea, or if it was the humiliation quickly flooding in to fill him.

”Oh, Steve...” Loki's voice made Steve shiver and huddle up closer to the toilet, as if trying to hide in plain sight. It couldn't have worked because the next thing he heard was more steps slowly coming closer until he could feel the man right behind his back. There Loki crouched down, and Steve blinked, felt his eyelashes stick together with cold tears, but managed to open them enough to see that he all at once was bracketed by two lean, pale legs. Even folded in half as they were in this position, they were still so very, very long.

”Come here”, Loki murmured. Carefully he grasped Steve's shoulders and made him sit up straight on the floor. He glanced at the face hovering over his shoulder. It was all concerned frown with a worried tilt to the thin mouth.

”Sorry”, he got out, his voice deep and gravelly and cracked from sleep and throwing up. ”Di'n mean t'wake y'up.” Steve heard that he could barely shape basic words and gave up, let his eyes close, slumping back a little – until he realized that made him lean back right into Loki's crotch, and he sat back upright in a hurry.

There came a soft, breathy little laugh from Loki. ”Don't worry about that, sweet thing.” A hand combed through his hair before both of Loki's hands slipped down to catch him under his armpits, gently but firmly pulling him up from the floor as he stood up himself. Once he had Steve on his feet Loki reached out to lower the lid on the toilet, then turned Steve and sat him down there so his weak legs wouldn't have to hold him up. ”Let's clean you up.”

Steve nodded, eyes glued to his own trembling hands, resting in his lap.

Soon a cool, damp washcloth was placed over his hands and he mumbled a thank you before using it to wipe first his face, and then folding it before dragging the soft terrycloth over his neck as well. Then he looked up, at last, to place it on the counter by his side. When he did he saw Loki stand there by the sink, dressed only in a loose-fitting t-shirt and boxer briefs, holding out a toothbrush that looked brand new, already with toothpaste on the bristles. Steve quietly took the thing and started brushing his teeth, slowly, and careful not to go too far back and trigger his already agitated gag reflex. When he was done and got up to rinse and spit in the sink he still gagged a little, but it calmed down almost at once.

Loki murmured something soothing that perhaps wasn't even words at all and rubbed a palm over Steve's upper back before he took the brush from him to put it to the side on the counter, and then slipped an arm around his back to lead him out of the room. Steve just followed, let himself be made to shuffle back into the livingroom and placed on the couch.

Once he got that far he realized that he was cold enough to shiver. Teeth rattling, he curled up on the seat and buried his face in a throw pillow that smelled faintly sour of alcohol. He felt Loki pull the blanket over him, tuck him in, and then perch on the edge of the seat, careful not to jostle him too much. Steve didn't look up, but he started to relax a little from the warmth gathering under the wool, giving a sigh when long, soothing fingers came to rub through his hair.

He fell asleep for the second time like that, with Loki's hand in his hair and still horribly embarrassed, only too tired to really know it.

If not for the fact that the room was bathed in golden morning daylight the next time Steve opened his eyes he might have thought that no time had passed at all. Because he was curled up under the blanket in the exact same position as he had been when he fell asleep, and Loki was perched on the edge of the seat, his fingers in Steve's hair. Only now he was dressed in jeans and a longsleeve instead of the t-shirt and underwear he had obviously been sleeping in before Steve had woken him up. His black hair was still a sleep-tousled mess, though, so he probably hadn't been out of bed for long.

Now he greeted Steve's tired squint with a fond smile, brushing fingertips by his ear. ”Better today?”

He thought about that for a moment, and found that he could nod honestly. Throwing up all that wine during the night had helped, apparently. His head felt sore, as did his eyes when they protested the light, but he wasn't nauseous anymore. So when Loki smiled wider and picked a glass of water from the coffee table Steve could even sit up next to him and greedily, gratefully drink it all down. When he handed the empty glass back with a mumbled thanks, he felt his cheeks heat up as he remembered more of the night before.

”I'm so sorry”, he told his own bony hands, resting in his lap. ”I really shouldn't be drinking.”

Loki's hand came into view and settled to almost cover both of his, fingers curling slightly to hold on to them. ”Then it's lucky you don't have to.”

Steve glanced up and found the artist smiling at him, just as fondly, and caught himself smiling back. ”Suppose it is.”

”We didn't break him, did we?” Tony's voice suddenly cut into the little scene, loud enough to be heard from the kitchen.

Turning his head toward the sound Steve also noticed that there was a rich, sweet smell spreading in the room and sat up a little straighter in the seat, sniffing at the air.

And Loki laughed. Just as rich and sweet. ”Oh, I think he'll be fine, Anthony”, he said when the laughter had turned to a wide grin. ”He just got a whiff of your pancakes.”

The promise of pancakes actually got Steve off the couch pretty quickly. When he stepped around the corner into the kitchen area, half a step behind Loki, they found Tony by the stove, dressed in a tank top and sweat pants, barefoot, hair a complete mess, smiling brightly and brandishing a spatula. Somehow he looked great just like that, and when Steve came close enough that Tony could reach out an arm to wrap around his waist, it felt right to go with it. Tony was warm from cooking, and the stubble around his goatee scratched pleasantly at Steve when the man kissed his cheek.

”Up for breakfast?”

”Think so. Smells amazing.”

Then Loki pulled him away from the stove so he could help get cream and jam from the refrigerator. Loki did the whisking while Steve carried plates and cutlery to the coffee table – apparently Sunday breakfast was best eaten on the couch, at least according to Tony. The way Loki rolled his eyes made Steve suspect this was another long ago lost battle, but once they had set the table and he could sit half under the blanket again, legs crossed like a tailor's and cradling a cup of coffee Loki had playfully topped with a spoonful of whipped cream, he knew that he, at least, agreed with Tony. This was great.

He had just put his cup down when Loki was shuffling closer against his side, getting an arm around his back and gently pulling him closer. Almost until Steve was more or less sitting in his lap. Which was strangely comforting. Being hung over always made him a little clingy and today was apparently no exception, so Steve let himself lean into Loki's chest without resistance.

It was no longer surprising when Loki wouldn't let him reach for his own plate. The arm wrapped around him just tightened its hold, catching one of Steve's own arms by his waist, the other stuck between their ribcages. Loki's free hand picked up a pancake, rolled it up, dipped it in whipped cream mixed with strawberry jam, and then held it by Steve's lips. Close enough that some of the cream smeared them. Steve didn't care. He just opened his mouth and accepted a bite, and then was unable to hold back a little moan of appreciation. It was delicious.

Loki gave him a wide, happy smile at the sound and then turned to get more cream on the pancake roll for him. And when he had fed Steve the whole thing Loki leaned in, slowly, and wiped his bottom lip clean with a quick little kitten lick.

”Sweet thing”, he murmured when he pulled back. Only to turn Steve's mouth from sweet to bitter by giving him some more coffee to drink.

As Loki picked up a second pancake Steve could see Tony move in closer behind the artist's back, smiling down at Steve over Loki's shoulder as the feeding continued, reaching out to put an arm around the both of them.

By the end of the meal the combination of sugar and caffeine had driven every trace of weariness from Steve and even his headache was long gone. The only thing left from his hangover was the urge for more physical closeness, so he let himself squirm a little closer to Loki, shifting his legs to a more comfortable position where their shins and knees didn't rub together.

With his face now buried in Loki's longsleeve he couldn't see much but he could still feel the man move, tilting back, and when he glanced up he could see that Loki was now leaning into Tony's chest in turn, his head turned sideways. His mouth was locked with Tony's in a kiss that looked both heated and deep, their lips sliding smoothly over each other and Steve even caught a slick, pink glimpe of a tongue. The sight made his heart first stutter, then leap, and at once he remembered seeing the two of them together the night before, Tony greedily licking Loki's hands clean, sucking on his slim fingers. Watching them now, combined with that memory, made a little keening noise escape him before he could stop it.

Hearing his whimper the two men broke their kiss, turned their heads in nearly identically slow movements, taking in his upturned face with dark, hungry gazes. And then they both smiled, at the same time. Both smiles just as lazy and toothy.

That was the moment a shrill ringtone chose to echo through the room. With an annoyed groan Tony tipped his head to Loki's shoulder in front of him and then started untangling himself from them both, to get off the couch.

”Work phone”, he explained after a glance at Steve's confused frown, pulling a wry face as he stood.

Apparently Sunday didn't mean Tony necessarily had the day off. He didn't have enough work, Loki explained, so whenever someone called about a car that needed fixing, Tony had to take it. And sure enough, as soon as the call ended Tony hurried to get dressed and then came back to the couch, leaning down to press a light kiss to the corner of Loki's mouth. 

”I'm borrowing your car”, he said when he pulled back far enough to catch Loki's eyes. ”No way am I taking my baby out on the kind of roads where that guy lives.”

”Fine.” Loki gave a little shrug.

Then Tony turned to smile down at Steve, still in Loki's lap. ”Well, at least I got to make you breakfast. With some luck you might still be here when I get back, perhaps?”

Steve hesitated, and glanced up at Loki for a clue as to how he should reply to that. All he got was another smile, so he guessed that meant he would be welcome to stay the day, if he wanted. And, well, what else was he supposed to do with his Sunday? 

So he turned back to Tony with a shy smile of his own. ”Perhaps I will be.”

”That's good.” And then Tony moved in, cradled Steve's head in a strong hand, and kissed him. A firm and serious kiss, full of scratching stubble and warm lips, the mouth behind them rich and sweet with the taste of cream and strawberries.

It was the first real kiss he had shared with Tony when sober, and it was even better than what he could remember it to be like. Even though it only lasted a moment it was enough that Steve could feel himself shiver in Loki's arms. And he knew that the artist would feel it in turn, which somehow made himself feel it even more intensely in a strange feedback loop.

Then Tony was gone in a rush and it was suddenly just Steve and Loki again. Which somehow felt strange, now. Even though having Loki all to himself it was what Steve still wanted most of all, he had come to see the two men as almost two halves of one entitiy; they were so closely connected.

”Well, since you're here for a while, I hope?” Loki nuzzled his hair. ”Perhaps we should continue yesterday's lesson?”

Steve nodded where he was again snuggled up against Loki's chest. ”I'd be happy to.”

So they started by clearing up after breakfast and then climbed the stairs to Loki's studio, where the artist spent the day making Steve practice the use of light and shadow. The hours passed so fast up there that they didn't even notice that the daylight was starting to fade until they heard Tony calling from downstairs, asking if he was the only one getting hungry. He wasn't, by then, so they had dinner made from the steak left over from the night before, Steve again accepting his dinner from Loki's fingers – but this time without any wine to go with it.

By the time dinner was done and Tony had finished talking about the new car project (actually he never did finish; he just went on until Loki kicked him under the table to shut him up), it was already so late Steve would have to leave if he didn't want to miss the last bus. He wasn't surprised when they quickly waved that suggestion away, and insisted that he stay another night. Since he didn't have any morning classes on Mondays, just the usual lunch with Bucky, he agreed.

He was surprised later, though, when he had used the bathroom and the toothbrush Loki had offered him the night before, and came out into the hallway to find both Loki and Tony waiting for him outside the open door to their bedroom. Smiling at him. Each reaching out a hand for him at the same time. And as their hands settled on his back to gently usher him in through the door, he realized that they wanted him to join them. That they wanted him to sleep in there, with them, instead of on the couch.

Steve could feel his mouth open, stunned, and no words would come. So he just let himself be led into the bedroom he had never seen before.

It was large for a bedroom, decorated in earthy tones combined with mossy greens and rusty reds. Warm and welcoming and soothing. In the corner across from the door were a few closets, under a window on the far wall was a huge, old-fashioned dresser made of dark wood, and under a bigger window in the wall to the right was a very wide bed with a lattice headboard, flanked by nightstands in a matching chestnut colour. At least it was easy to see that he would be able to share their bed without trouble. They could have easily fit at least one more person beside the three of them as well.

But he wasn't allowed to think about that for long before the hands on his back were moving, being joined by two more. Loki's fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, darkly gleaming turquoise eyes locked on his face, searching for a sign that Steve would ask him to stop. Meanwhile Tony's hands dropped to the front of Steve's jeans and undid the button, then his thumb spent a moment just playing with the tab of his zipper. Obviously, he was also offering Steve an opportunity to object to the treatment.

There came no protest from Steve, though. He just stayed still while Loki slipped the now open shirt off his shoulders, rolled up sleeves falling down his arms almost by the weight of the folded fabric. And Tony was careful to separate his underwear from his jeans as he pulled them down his legs, making sure he wasn't left naked, before he then crouched down to lift each of his feet in turn, pulling off jeans and socks at the same time.

Done, Tony gathered up his clothes and walked across the room to place them on top of the dresser before he slipped into that side of the bed. Loki led Steve to the other and motioned for him to climb up on the bed, crawling to the middle of it, still on top of the covers. Then Loki opened his nightstand, pulled out a blanket very similar to the one he had slept under on the couch, but even softer. He spread that one over Steve before he slipped under the covers on his other side.

Loki's hands tucked him in on one side, Tony's on the other, as they gently shifted him to where they wanted him – perfectly in the middle of the huge mattress, facing Loki. Then Tony shuffled closer behind him, effectively making Steve his little spoon, an arm cradling his chest, hand rubbing gently over his sternum and clavicles on top of the blanket. Loki moved in as close as he could as well, his long legs almost tangling with Steve's, and his arm settling between his back and Tony's chest.

He was completely surrounded by them like that. One body close on each side, two arms holding him in place, keeping him warm, keeping him... safe. He hadn't shared a bed with anyone to sleep a full night since he'd been a little boy and come climbing into bed with his mother when he'd been afraid of things hiding in the dark. Now this gave him almost the same feeling that had. He was taken care of, and nothing in the world could touch him here – they wouldn't allow it.

Steve fell asleep surprisingly quickly with that thought filling his mind.

He wake up slowly.

Steve was still so much at rest, so comfortable, so pleasantly warm, that it took him some time to notice that the blanket had been pulled off him. Hands were softly caressing his shoulders and the top part of his chest, what felt like a thumb finding one of his nipples and circling it a few times before moving on. The hands kept sliding down his abdomen, making it clench slightly when one fingertip tickled a sensitive spot. But it wasn't enough to really wake him up, so when the hands reached his hips it still felt like a dream. A calloused thumb he knew was Tony's circled one of his jutting hipbones, just like the nipple had been treated before, and then that hand slipped over his boxers to the thigh below the fabric, ghosting over the downy hairs there. Steve pulled in a long, slow breath at the sensation, but then his focus shifted to the other hand, still at his hip, which had started moving down as well, but slipping in under the waistband of the boxers to do so.

Somewhere around that moment Steve knew it wasn't a dream. Perhaps it was the way the waistband pulled at his lower back when the hand stretched it. Perhaps the fingertips coming to tickle at his barely-there treasure trail.

He pulled in another breath, this one almost a gasp, and opened his eyes to take in the soft morning light as he lifted his head off the pillow. When he did he saw both their sleep-tousled heads turn to face him, their eyes dark, mouths with slightly parted lips, aroused little blushes on their cheekbones. For men so very different they looked eerily identical in that moment. And then they smiled at him, slowly, hungrily, and Steve felt himself tremble under their hands. No-one had ever looked at him like that, as if they wanted to eat him raw, wouldn't be satisfied until they had sucked the marrow from his cracked bones. Having that kind of look directed at him from two men at once should have been terrifying. 

It wasn't. 

It sent a coldly burning spark skittering down his spine, and at once he felt himself start to go hard.

They noticed. Of course they noticed. With the way his growing erection was now moving over the backs of Loki's fingers still inside his underwear there was no way they couldn't notice. And their smiles widened into grins, those hands at once moving from their current positions to grasp his boxers and start pulling them down.

That was when it suddenly got terrifying, though. Before he could think about it Steve's own hands flew down to grab the elastic between their hands, holding on. And even as he watched the grins on their faces slowly fade into something softer and kinder, he wondered why he had stopped them. It wasn't that he didn't want them to do it, really. He did. But the thought of them seeing all of him, nothing hidden, was beyond intimidating.

Steve knew he wasn't a big guy. And, well... All of him was sort of... proportional? Which meant he wasn't really big _anywhere_. He felt his cheeks heat up at the thought of them getting a good look at all of him, and the way their kind smiles would turn to nasty, teasing smirks. 

He wouldn't be able to put himself back together after something like that, he just knew it.

They pulled him from his thoughts by gently grasping his wrists, tugging his hands off the waistband and then up his chest, over his head, to place them on the pillow there. All the while giving him those sweet, soft smiles that made him incapable of resisting. His wrists were pressed down a little into the pillow, demonstratively, before they let go, and the message was clear enough – he was supposed to keep them there.

Breath speeding up, he angled his eyes down to see them return to his underwear, both their hands slipping in under the waistband now and pushing the garment down. Still slowly, but with determination. And a moment later they had slipped his boxers all the way down his legs and off his feet, Tony casually throwing them down to the foot of the bed, before their hands changed direction and caressed their way back up his legs to his groin. Steve swallowed past a huge lump in his throat and finally dared glance up to their faces, so afraid of what he would see, yet unable to go on without knowing their reaction.

To his surprise, their eyes were already on his when he looked up. As if they had been waiting for him to do so. And there was nothing teasing in the curves of their lips at all. If anything their looks were even hungrier.

”You're beautiful, Steve”, Loki told him, his tone heated and the turquoise of his eyes almost gone with how wide his pupils were blown. While he spoke his long fingers curled around Steve's length, grip carefully firm.

”Perfect”, Tony added, voice gravel, as his warm palm came to settle below Loki's hand, covering Steve's scrotum.

All he could do was to let his head drop heavily back down on the pillow, giving a little moan.

”That's it, precious thing”, Tony continued, a smile clear in his tone even if Steve couldn't see his face anymore. ”Just stay put, and we'll take care of you.”

Steve felt himself nodding, unable to form words. And he was strangely certain that they wouldn't want him to speak right now anyway.

Loki's hand left him again then, and Steve tilted his head up a little when the movement caught his attention. It turned out to be Loki holding his open palm out in front of Tony who leaned his head in, while never taking his own fingers away from gently stroking Steve, and then wet Loki's whole hand with long, broad licks of his tongue.

Perhaps it was lucky that Loki's hand wasn't on him when he saw that, or Steve might have come at once. If he had, then he wouldn't have found out what it felt like when Loki's now slick hand came back to close around him again, giving a slow, firm, gliding stroke from tip to root, his large palm nearly covering Steve's cock whole by the end of the movement. And that would have been a huge loss, because it was probably the most amazing thing he had ever felt in his life. Not made less amazing by the way Tony's fingers had now caressed their way down the sensitive inside of his thigh, spreading his legs just a little, to reach the patch of skin behind his balls, and oh god, that was... something.

He felt himself try to buck up into their touches, but he was too weak. With his hand over his head he had no real leverage, and he already felt drained, like their skin on his was sapping what little strength he'd had to begin with.

”Relax, sweet thing.” Loki leaned a little closer to murmur by his ear, as his hand ran back up Steve's length. ”Just let it happen when it happens.”

Unthinkingly he tilted his head left, rubbing his cheek against Loki's face, his mouth gaping, chasing air. But he really had no other choice but to take the advice, since he could tell that it was going to happen soon, and it felt a bit like it was going to kill him when it did.

It really didn't take long. Loki's hand was a spit-slicked piece of perfection and when Tony's fingertip rubbed lower, just teasing at the creased skin around his hole, he was gone, dropped off the edge of the world. He made an aborted, strangled little sound in his throat and went rigid, arching up from the bed, toes curling, hands grabbing the pillowcase above his head so tight he might have ripped it if he was stronger.

Coming back down from the heavenly high he became aware that someone was gently wiping his abdomen and chest clean where he'd come all over himself. It tickled his suddenly oversensitive skin and he squirmed a little, but didn't object. Better than it drying there, and he was so limp there was no way he could have left the bed to clean himself up.

When it was done both Loki and Tony shuffled closer on the bed, arms and legs from both of them coming to cover and cradle him. Practically paralyzed from the overwhelming pleasure he couldn't move, just stay there and try to breathe deeply without his throat hissing and hurting, and feel his heartbeat slow and even out.

Some part of Steve had expected them to want something from him in return then, because in his limited experience that was how sex worked. If you were given something, you were expected to repay it in kind. And he wasn't unwilling to do that, he really wasn't, but it felt like his spine had turned to overcooked spaghetti and moving wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

Then their arms just wrapped tighter around him, as if they had felt his thoughts, and Loki's lips settled on his temple while Tony's brushed his shoulder.

”Thank you”, Tony breathed, and Loki hummed his agreement. As if they were the ones who had already been given something.

So when they stayed just cuddled up to him like that, breathing on his skin and hair, never pushing for something else, Steve let himself slip back into the feeling from the night before. He was safe, and they would take care of him. Of everything.


	5. By a thread

As he slumped back in a seat on the bus into town Steve still felt loose-limbed and drained, in a decidedly pleasant way.

He had spent the rest of the morning cradled between Loki and Tony in their bed. At first they had just held him, seeming to enjoy the warmth and the way he had gone completely limp and unmoving. Then the soft, butterfly-light kisses to his face had found his mouth, where they had turned to something deeper. They had taken turns kissing him until he could no longer tell the taste of them apart and his lips were swollen and almost sore to the touch of theirs. But still, they hadn't been demanding – or even asking – anything more from him.

When it got so late in the morning that he had to leave the bed to get ready for the day they slowly untangled themselves from him. Reluctantly.

Loki led him to the bathroom and placed a large, soft towel in his hands, explaining that he was free to use the shower. The way the professor's bright eyes moved between Steve's still naked body and the shower stall, his long fingers twitching slightly, it was obvious he would have preferred to be the one to wash him. But perhaps he sensed that Steve had had enough to deal with as it was, and so he simply left the room and shut the door, leaving Steve to take care of at least this by himself.

Clean and dressed, even though it was in used underwear and yesterday's clothes, Steve declined the offer of breakfast, since he had to leave to get to his Monday lunch with Bucky on time. They nodded their acceptance, even though Loki seemed displeased and Tony's brown eyes, wide with disappointment, made him look a little like a kicked puppy. And before he knew it Steve found himself promising to come after school, to make up for the missed breakfast. That at last made them smile, and allow him to leave.

Now, sitting on the bus in to town, he already looked forward to making the return trip that night. He found himself smiling at the sunshine burning in the red-and-gold leaves along the road and had to clasp his hands together between his thighs, his knees rubbing together in an effort to keep his finger there, so they would stay still and not give away his excitement with useless fidgeting. In his narrow chest his heart was doing strange things he'd never known it to do before, like it was trying to turn itself inside out or change shape. It was both as amazing and unsettling as the way his insides also felt like they were shifting around. He'd heard of butterflies, but this didn't feel like that at all, more like he was filling up with something radioactive. As likely to energize him as to tear him apart.

It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time. 

Steve couldn't say he had ever felt wanted before.

There were even few enough people he had wanted himself, and the way he had felt about Loki had been the strongest infatuation he had ever known. A part of him was still struggling with the way he wanted Loki and Loki alone, but he knew that would never happen. What Loki shared with Tony wasn't something Steve could ever hope to intrude upon, he could see that clearly, even though he had about as much experience with true love as he had with space travel. He could never have Loki without Tony, because there was no such thing. They were bound together and could never be parted. Perhaps they really were two parts of one whole, as Steve sometimes thought? Perhaps they only had one heart between them, half set in each of their chests, and they needed the other to even live? Sometimes it felt like that. Even though Steve didnt believe that they lacked heart; they wouldn't take care of him the way they did if that was the case.

And they did take care of him. They did care. The fond satisfaction in Loki's eyes when Steve accepted food from his hand told him so. The gentle fingers in his hair and the concern with his safety. And Tony, who could have regarded him with suspicion for the way he felt about the man Tony loved, offered him nothing but warm, solid embraces and affection.

He had never felt wanted, and now there were two men who wanted him. It was overwhelming, but he couldn't pretend he didn't enjoy it.

Steve knew he was still smiling like a loon by the time he reached the coffee shop and met Bucky, because his friend gave him an odd look under raised eyebrows and wondered what the hell had happened since last week, when he'd looked half dead?

Last week... It had only been a week since the first time he had spent the night on their couch, and it felt like forever.

Trying to dampen his smile Steve shrugged under the arm Bucky slung around his shoulders to lead him to their usual table. ”It's just... My studies are going really well”, he finally managed as an explanation. ”Professor Laufeyson”, he continued, even though it felt really strange to speak so formally about Loki now, ”offered me private lessons.”

He might as well tell Bucky that much; it would explain so much without him having to make up more complicated lies. And Steve had never been a very talented liar, so that would just make things worse. 

Loki had never asked him to keep his visits a secret, had never told him to lie or hide the truth, but Steve was smart enough to know that a professor wasn't supposed to have this kind of relationship with a student of his. If he let the truth slip, he would not only get Loki in trouble, but risk losing everything the three of them had. And he would never let that happen.

”Private lessons?” James frowned while they were taking their seats. ”You can afford something like that, Stevie?”

He shook his head. ”No, I can't. He's doing it for free.”

Bucky's frown just deepened. ”Why?” Which was probably a justified question.

”He thinks I have talent.” Steve looked down at his own fingers, playing with the shoulder strap of his bag where it was resting across one of his thighs. ”He... wants me to be the best I can be.”

When he glanced back up Bucky was shaking his head too, more thoughtfully than anything else, at least. ”You're seriously weird.”

”What?” His heart did a double beat, even though there was no way his friend could know anything more than what Steve had told him just now.

”Who want's _more_ school work in their free time?”

”It's not just school work for me, Buck”, Steve tried to explain, not for the first time. A strange mix of relief and annoyance in his gut. ”It's my life's work.” And it still was, even though there were thoughts of so many other things taking up his time these days as well.

They paused their conversation as a waitress came by their table to take their orders, and then Bucky settled his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned in closer, smirking. 

”So, is he teaching you how to draw strings all over everything?”

Steve kicked him under the table, but smiled as he did it – and then quickly manouvered away from the subject of his professor altogether.

* * *

Steve went home after his art history lecture – where Loki barely looked at him and Steve tried to keep his eyes on his notes as much as possible – to change out of his clothes and pack some he could change into the next day. Because as he caught the bus out of town again he already knew that he wouldn't be going back home to sleep that night.

And he didn't. He spent that night just like the last; wrapped up in their safe, warm embraces.

From that day on, this slowly became his new life. He went in to town to attend his classes, and then he returned to the little red brick house by the edge of the forest, ate there, slept there most nights too, got some drawing lessons from Loki, listened to Tony ramble on about old cars, and started to feel like it wasn't just his second home, but his only.

Then things started to change in that home. It happened gradually, such small things at a time that Steve at first didn't even notice.

He never got his own plate when they sat down to eat a meal anymore. It had been a while since he last touched cutlery, or put a piece of food in his mouth on his own. He tried, at first, but Loki firmly shook his head and told him no, told him to keep his hands in his lap, under the table, out of the way, and stay put.

That had become the standing order for most things in his life, actually; to stay put, and let them take care of everything. Of him. And Steve had always done well with orders and clear instructions, so he let his hands settle on his thighs and accepted being fed.

When he started making a habit out of using their shower it very obviously made them happy. Afterward, Loki often buried his nose in Steve's blond hair, darkened by damp, and inhaled the scent of the shampoo he had borrowed. He borrowed their deodorant as well, and one night when he was on the couch, stretched out by Tony's side, the mechanic actually sniffed his armpit through the cloth of his shirt, humming appreciatively at the familiar smell.

Then they wouldn't let him go home to change his clothes. He had an extra pair of jeans, two shirts, a sweater, two t-shirts and some underwear and socks, all neatly folded and stored on a shelf in one of their wardrobes. When something needed washing Loki quickly snatched it away and put it in with their own laundry, returning it to the shelf later, soft and warm and smelling of their fabric softener.

He felt like something being scent-marked. As if smelling like them made him more theirs.

Steve secretly loved it, and when he was at school – the only time he was really away from them - he often found himself dragging the too-long sleeve of his shirt down over his fingers so he could rest his head in his hand and smell the fabric. It reminded him of soft sheets and having his cheek pressed to a warm chest, covered in newly washed garments and flexing with slow breaths. It reminded him of safety.

Because it did all make him feel safe. Feel like he belonged. And he trusted them, trusted that they wanted to take care of him, that they wanted him to be the best he could be.

So when they asked things of him, new things, he did his very best to make them happy. They asked so little, after all. How could he deny them?

They asked him to sit still where they placed him; at the table, in the couch, on the bed. Never for long stretches at a time, but for as long as they chose. When he complied he was always rewarded with pleased smiles and afterward, when he was allowed to move again, they welcomed him into their arms and held him and stroked his hair and his back, telling him he had done well. So well. And his heart swelled in his chest as he pressed his forehead to the throat of the one holding him, pleased to be able to make them happy with so simple things.

They asked him to stay silent at times. Only speak when spoken to. He'd noticed before that they sometimes preferred him silent, and he didn't mind. He was rather quiet and reflective by nature anyway, so he nodded his agreement and didn't speak until told otherwise. And again, he was always rewarded with their affection and praise.

He also found that those things could be their own reward.

When he sat still and quiet by the table and watched Tony work in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and humming under his breath, or even better – sitting in a corner, watching Tony work on his metal sculptures in the basement studio. It was no trouble staying in place then, watching silently, far too fascinated for words anyway.

Or when he sat beside Loki in his studio under the roof, watching his quick, skilled hands work their form of magic, so different from Tony's but definitely no less fascinating, even though Steve understood this kind of magic better. The expert way Loki worked was still on a level so far above Steve's own that it felt like another art altogether.

It was most difficult to stick to the rules when it meant he was sitting to the side watching Loki and Tony together. Like when they prepared and cooked a meal together, when they played chess in the living room, or when Loki was stretched out on the bed, reading, his head in Tony's lap and the mechanic's hand was idly running through the long tresses of black hair, teasing out the tangles.

Steve didn't so much feel left out at those times as he was feeling frustrated. He was tactile by nature, and he wanted his share. But at least he always got it in the end. They didn't keep him away for long and when the ban on moving was lifted sooner or later, they welcomed him back into their company. When they were done cooking they settling down to feed him, sometimes cuddled in Loki's lap. When they let him leave the corner of the couch he burrowed in under Tony's heavy arm so he could help with strategy for the next moves in their game of chess. When he was released from the spot at the foot of the bed he could curl up next to Loki, his head sharing space on Tony's muscular thigh, while Loki started reading aloud to them both.

All things considered, he was doing well. But of course there would come a time when he failed.

It came one night when he woke up in the dark and it felt like his bladder was about to burst. He blinked his eyes open and could make out just enough to see that Loki had rolled away in his sleep, turned his back on Steve instead of cuddling him as he usually did. Tony was still the big spoon behind his back, at least partly, but his hand was just resting sleep-heavy on Steve's hip. It wasn't that difficult to slip out of that slack hold on him, untangle himself from the blanket, and shuffle off the foot of the bed where he didn't have to climb over one of them. 

On the soft balls of his feet he went sneaking into the bathroom, used the toilet, washed his hands, and was just about to return to the bedroom when he noticed that there was a faint line of light falling in under the closed door. He definitely hadn't turned any lights on, so someone must have woken up despite his care to be as quiet as possible. And it was in that moment, when he saw that pale line of light along the floor, that he remembered what he had promised them – to stay in bed until given permission to leave.

He'd broken the rule. Disobeyed an order.

Steve swallowed, hesitating with his fingers barely touching the door handle. Suddenly terrified of what their reaction would be. He couldn't stay there in the dark bathroom shivering, though. He had to face the consequences of his mistake.

It turned out both of them were awake, sitting up in bed with the covers around their hips, looking straight at him with serious faces and dark eyes when he stepped into the room. He stopped right inside the door, unable to move closer. They just watched him in silence for a little while, perhaps waiting for him to make useless excuses, try to beg for their forgiveness.

At last, Loki was the one to break the silence in the room, and when he did he wasn't speaking to Steve – even though he never took his eyes off him. 

”Anthony?”

There came no reply. Tony didn't even glance over at Loki to see what he was asking for, instead he just gave a curt nod. Then he rolled off the bed, walked over to the dresser by the wall and opened a drawer where he retrieved something before shutting it and turning back to the bed. Whatever it was, it was so small it was completely hidden in his closed fist and Steve had no chance to see it and get any idea of what was coming. He didn't see what it was even when Tony settled on the bed again and handed the thing over to Loki.

Then they were both watching him again, eyes sharply intent.

”Come here, Steve”, Loki said, voice even.

His weight shifted and he was moving forward in response to the command before he had even decided to do it, but when he reached the foot of the bed he just couldn't keep going. A tremble was moving though his body, in his chest his heartbeat was losing its steady rythm, his breaths coming faster. Unable to look at their stern faces, he let his gaze drop to the wrinkled, untidy sheet, pulled away to show a little of the gray mattress under it.

”You do remember what we asked you to do, right?” Tony's voice was serious, but not as harsh as he might have expected.

Steve forced a minute nod. ”Stay put.” He pulled a ragged breath. ”I forgot.”

”We know you did.” Loki sounded just the same as Tony had. ”We know. And all we want to do is help you remember next time. So you can do better.”

A shiver slipped down his spine, like a drop of icy water.

”You want to do better, don't you?” The tone in Tony's words had turned even softer, but no less serious.

”For us?” And Loki was almost pleading.

He had to look up, drawn by that tone, and found Loki's wide, blue-green eyes glowing in the light from the bedside lamp, shining on his face from the side. When Steve glanced at Tony his dark eyes were almost black, his face turned away from the light behind his back. But his mouth was soft, his expression calm.

Steve couldn't give an answer, verbal or otherwise, so he didn't even try. Instead he just leaned forward, placed first his hands and then a knee on the bed and came crawling back to his spot between them. He let their hands pull him down on the mattress, arrange him, tuck him back in under his blanket.

Only when they were done with that, when he was again placed on his side, facing Loki, with one hand resting palm up on the pillow in front of his face, was he allowed to see what Loki had been holding, what he had asked Tony to get for him. It was a spool of black sewing thread.

Loki's long, elegant fingers unrolled a length of it, pulled it free with a quick little tug, let the spool drop in his lap and then gently wound one end of the thread around Steve's thin wrist. He felt Tony lean in over him from the other side, saw a dark finger slide in between the thread and his own pale skin, making sure Loki could tie a tight knot without the thread cutting into his arm.

Slowly, Steve felt himself start to breathe more evenly again, the ache in his chest easing up. He watched more calmly as Loki fastened the other end of the black thread to the lattice of the headboard, and then slid down on the bed until he was resting face to face with Steve again.

”There we are”, Loki said, rewarding him with a tiny but soft smile. ”That should help, I think.”

He waited until he had seen Steve give a little nod before he turned around to switch the light off. Behind his back, Steve felt Tony move to do the same, and then the room was plunged into darkness.

With careful movements they settled into their usual positions, close to his front and back, arms resting around him. He felt Loki kiss the inside of his wrist, just below the thread.

”I hope to see this still unbroken by morning, sweet thing”, he murmured, lips and breath tickling Steve's thin skin.

The addition of the usual endearment rather than his name made Steve feel easier about it, but he could still hear the words that went unsaid. Because there was no need, really. If he broke the thread, he would also break their hearts. He had made the mistake once, honestly, but if he failed them in the same way again the consequences would be much worse; he could almost feel the bitter taste of their disappointment just thinking about it. 

Steve nodded into the pillow. ”It will be. I promise.”

Tony's lips pressed a kiss to the back of his head. ”That's good. Now try to get some more sleep.”

It took a long time, what with Steve being tense and nervous about accidentally moving and breaking the thread in his sleep, but in the end he drifted off. And when he woke up the first thing he saw was his still bound hand, resting in what had to be the exact same spot as Loki had placed it.

Relief almost made him dizzy.

The next thing he noticed was that he was alone in the bed. Frowning, he lifted his head off the pillow and looked around, only to find the room empty as well. Tied to the bed as he was all he could do was lie back down, and wait. He curled up under the blanket, closed his eyes and pressed his face back into the pillowcase. Steve was cold, despite the warm blanket. He wasn't used to being alone in this bed and it felt all wrong.

Was he in trouble after all?

A dip in the mattress in front of him made him look up with a little start, staring straight into Tony's face. It was still serious, but a lot less stern than it had been during that nights events. When Tony saw that he was awake, and still tied with the string, the corner s of his eyes crinkled with the hint of a smile. Steve let himself relax a little.

”Time to get up now”, Tony told him. Then he took a hold of Steve's wrist, to keep it steady, and cut the thread around it with a little snip from a pair of scissors he'd brought with him. He still held on to Steve when he leaned back, pulling him off the mattress.

There was nothing in him that had the will or the strength to resist so he just followed Tony's lead, slipping off the high bed and following along out into the livingroom, heading for the kitchen. Tony was in his usual tank top and worn thin sweatpants, while Steve hadn't been allowed to dress and was still in just the boxer briefs he'd been sleeping in.

Loki was sitting by the kitchen table, in the chair by the end of it where he always placed himself when they shared a meal, although it was pulled out now and facing mostly away from the table. He turned his head when he heard them approach, tangled hair moving over his wide, bare shoulders. He was only wearing his pajama pants and nothing else, his long, pale feet looking so delicate on the stone flooring. Silently he watched as they entered the kitchen.

As if reacting to his gaze Tony slowed his steps then and let Steve catch up. Let him come closer until he could place the hand that had been holding Steve's wrist between his shoulder blades instead, gently pushing him forward until they were standing side by side across the room from Loki, waiting. 

”Come here.” Loki leaned back in the chair and took his hand off the table to wave Steve closer with a gentle movement of his fingers. His voice was low and soft.

He didn't even hesitate anymore. Not like he would have just a few weeks ago. Obeying the orders he was given felt like something natural now, and he knew he had to make up for last night's failings. So even when he couldn't understand exactly what Loki wanted, he came when called. And when he got close enough he let the artist's long fingers curl around his wrist to pull him even closer, until he was between the long thighs now spreading to make room for him. The man's other hand caught his other wrist and then he pulled a little harder, tugging Steve more down than forward, and he knew what was asked of him. Slowly he bent his legs, kneeling in front of Loki's chair.

The artist was smiling down at him when Steve glanced back up through his eyelashes. His elegant fingers were still holding Steve's frail, bony wrists, and now they placed his palms flat against Loki's thighs, high on the curves of firm, lean muscle. The hard flesh and the warmth coming off of it were both so easy to make out through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

”Now, do you remember what this night's lesson was?”

Steve nodded, his gaze hovering somewhere around Loki's clavicles; seeing the professor's bare skin in daylight wasn't something he was used to, not yet. ”Stay put”, he repeated.

”Exactly.” Loki's thumbs rubbed warm little circles on the inside of his wrists, right over his pulse points. ”Stay put, and let us take care of everything.”

The use of ”us” prepared him for hearing Tony move in closer behind him, but it didn't quite prepare him for feeling the man sinking to his knees right behind Steve on the floor. The inside of his thighs were hot against the outside of Steve's bare legs even through Tony's sweatpants, the solid sensation of his front close by Steve's back. His presence was a little unnerving at first, since Steve didn't understand what they were doing, but then Loki kept rubbing soothing circles into his skin, and Tony's hands settled on his shoulders, heavy but comforting. Thumbs stroking along the ridges of his shoulder blades, standing out like whings from his skinny back, fingers moving over his collar bones.

”We'll take care of everything”, Tony murmured, almost into his hair. ”And of you.”

Steve let himself relax a little at that. Being surrounded by them in bed had become his safe place, and this reminded him of that. A part of him had always believed them; they would take care of him.

Tony's hands must have felt the softening of his muscles. Perhaps that was why they let go of his shoulders and moved up along his arms, to Loki's and his hands, and then continued to the apex of Loki's thighs. When Steve let his eyes follow the caress he realized that the soft, draping fabric of Loki's pants did absolutely nothing to hide that he was hard now. In fact, Steve was sure Loki wasn't wearing anything under those pants either.

At once his breath hitched. He tried to swallow and felt like he would just drown on his own spit.

He wanted to move his hands, reach out to touch, but he knew he wasn't supposed to do that. Of course. That was the whole point of this, wasn't it? All he was supposed to do was sit there, still and obedient, because that was what they had told him to do.

This was... not a punishment, really. No, he didn't think of it like that. But it felt like a demonstration of power. A show of dominance he couldn't ignore. They were letting Steve know his place in the pack where they were the alphas.

So all he did was sit, stay, and watch as Tony's hands reached the waistband, passed it, and slowly caressed the faint lines of Loki's abdominals under the pale skin. The muscles tensed a little at the touch – perhaps it tickled? – but Loki didn't move. Steve watched as Tony's fingers moved back and curled in under the elastic, pulling it down enough to bare the long erection, not even a foot from his face. It was flushed with soft shades of pink and purple, but still pale. Steve could see a dark blue vein trace across the underside of it, down into the neatly trimmed black hair around the base.

Transfixed as he was by the sight in front of him, Steve barely felt it when one of Tony's hands came to stroke his back again. It found the knob at the top of his back, traced the vertebrae in his neck, and his fingertips rubbed at the edge of bone at the base of his skull

At the same time Tony's other hand came to close around Loki's cock, lifting it from where it had been resting against his hip. His blunt, calloused fingers seemed completely at home there, no matter how different his darker skin was against Loki's paleness, and when they moved to the head in a slow, lazy stroke and then down again, dragging the foreskin with them, it was even more obvious how familiar he was with Loki' body. The touch drew a moan from Loki's throat, but Steve just wasn't able to take his eyes of what was happening right in front of his face, even though he very much wanted to see the expression on the artist's as well.

Then Steve became aware that Tony's hand had moved up to comb into his blond hair, cup his head, and was now pushing gently, urging it forward.

And then he understood. And stiffened under the hands holding him, resisting.

”I've never...” He was shocked by his own gravelly voice and had to clear his throat. ”I don't know how.”

”You don't have to know”, Loki soothed above him, but Steve still didn't dare look up.

Tony bent to nuzzle the hair at the side of his head. ”That's why we're taking care of everything. So you don't have to know how.” His hot lips pressed a soft kiss to Steve's ear. ”All you have to know is that you want to.”

It wasn't quite a question, but Steve thought they really meant it as one anyway. That if he refused, they wouldn't force it. He wasn't stupid or naive – he knew that they could if they wanted to. They had height and weight and, especially in Tony's case, raw strength enough by far to force him into anything, to take anything from him that they wanted. They could. Just as they could have taken advantage of him when he was too drunk to defend himself. But he was certain they didn't want that.

They wanted to ask him for it, and have him obey. Because he chose to.

At last he glanced up at Loki who was leaning back in his chair, still holding Steve's hands firmly to his thighs. Smiling softly at them both from above like that he could have been a king, eyeing his adoring subjects. All of his kingdom, really, right there at his feet. There was more colour than usual on his high cheekbones, his hair was still tousled after the night, and the morning sun was throwing glistening highlights in the glossy strands. Steve was sure the man had never been more beautiful.

He knew he wanted to. There was no doubt about that, at all. But should he want it? Was it something he was allowed to admit to wishing for when it was the man Loki shared his life with who asked him?

Steve decided that the fact that Tony was the one taking the initiative here probably meant that he was allowed. It was his hand guiding Steve's head, after all. It was him wanting to know what Steve wanted in the first place.

What Loki wanted wasn't difficult to guess. When Steve looked back down at it, the pale cock in Tony's hand twitched slightly, and under his own palms Steve could feel a coiling tension in the muscles of Loki's thighs.

They all wanted the same thing, and that was the moment Steve actually started accepting that thought.

He gave a nod so minute he didn't think Tony would have noticed it if his hand hadn't already still been so closely connected to the base of Steve's skull. And there came no verbal response. That hand just made its grip on his head a little firmer and urged him forward with renewed pressure. And this time Steve let it happen.

He was still tense and not really breathing by the time his lips were nearly close enough to brush the tip of Loki's cock, and that was where Tony's grip in his hair stopped him.

The man's own lips came back to his ear. ”Breathe.” His whisper was as warm as his front against Steve's back, and then he waited until he felt Steve draw a shaky breath before he moved his head closer still.

Steve let his mouth drop open when he felt the hot, smooth skin touch his lips, and the more or less instinctive action earned him an approving hum from the man behind him. Then he was pushed forward until he had the whole head in his mouth, and for a moment he was sure Tony would just keep going until it was lodged in his throat. He very nearly panicked for a breif moment, but then he realized his head wasn't moving at all anymore.

And he knew they were the ones taking care of it all, but he also knew there were some parts of this he would still have to do on his own.

Hesitantly Steve closed his lips tighter around the shaft, settled the length of his tongue against the underside, wetting it, tasting it, feeling the textures play across his nerves. Somewhere above him, Loki moaned again. 

Behind, Tony chuckled softly. ”That's it, precious thing.” He rubbed his fingers through Steve's hair, a reward going with the encouragement. ”Not that much to it, really.”

His mouth was never forced far enough down on Loki that it caused him any discomfort, so he could try to focus on mapping the head, the ridge of the crown, and the satiny skin under it with his tongue. After a little while he experimentally hollowed his cheeks, sucking as Tony pulled him back, and was rewarded by a gasp from above. So he did it again.

For a while it carried on like that; Tony's hand guiding Steve's head, his other one still stroking the part of Loki's cock his mouth didn't reach. Loki's breaths coming faster, his thighs making aborted, twitching movements under Steve's palms now and then.

Tony's breath was hot on the side of his neck, and he could feel how hard the man was, pressing against his backside when he leaned even closer. And that wasn't actually a new sensation – he'd slept as Tony's little spoon quite a few nights by now, after all. 

”The only way to make this more perfect now”, he said, still moving Steve's head in a steady rythm, ”would be me fucking you at the same time.”

Those words pulled a groan from Loki, and Steve knew the man was picturing that, and not even a heartbeat later he saw it himself. The image summoned up by those simple words intimately connecting the three of them.

He and Tony right where they were now, on their knees and pressed tightly together, only naked. Golden sunshine glowing on sweaty skin. He thought about how that would look to Loki above them, how dark Tony's strong hands would look on Steve's skinny hips, how he would have a perfect view of Tony's cock thrusting into him, spreading him open... And since he had that cock burning what felt like a scorching mark into him at this moment it wasn't even that difficult to make out the size of it, or imagine what it would feel like inside him.

Like that, he'd be completely at their mercy. Even more than right now. A sacrifice to their pleasure.

Steve would deny it to himself later, but that thought set his blood on fire.

His whole body went rigid, and he had to make a heroic effort not to clamp his jaws shut around the swollen length between his teeth as his body shuddered and he came, still in his underwear, still completely untouched. The helpless, half-choked moans and whimpers he heard had to be coming from himself, and maybe it was those noises that pushed Loki over the edge as well. Whatever it was, he felt the cock in his mouth swell even more, felt the long fingers curl tighter around his wrists, and heard Loki give a heated, breathless noise. Tony eased his head back a little at the sound, making sure the thick, salty, slightly bitter cum hit his tongue instead of the back of his throat. Silently grateful for that, Steve swallowed what he had been given without having to be told to. The pleased noise from Tony as he urged Steve's head back off Loki completely, told him this had been the right thing to do.

Weak, shivering, his knees hurting by now, all bone against the stone floor, he couldn't move. But he didn't have to. Tony's arms slipped around him, lifting him, turning him, until he was gathered up sideways in the man's lap. Those strong hands held him close and where he was sitting it was easy to tell that Tony was still hard. A part of Steve wanted to do something about that, but he knew it wasn't his decision. All he had to do was stay put, breathe, and if they needed something more from him they would let him know.

Steve still hadn't opened his eyes when he heard the whisper of cloth telling him Loki was putting himself back to rights, then the scrape of the chair against the floor as he stood and pushed it back a little. Then he was surprised to feel Loki kneel too, opposite Tony, so they were cradling Steve between them, their arms holding him, hands caressing his arms and back, his hair and face.

At last he found the strength to blink his eyes open. Still under heavy lids he managed to glance up at first Tony's face, then Loki's. He found them both giving him the same sweet, pleased smiles, and even though he was still shivering and limp he shaped his lips into a trembling little upwards curve in return.

”Well done, sweet thing”, Loki said, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

And Steve relaxed completely then, wrapped in the praise as much as their arms. He had done well, and they were happy.

Perhaps he was even forgiven.


	6. Sleepless

Weeks passed, turning golden and red leaves to bare branches outside the windows of the little red brick house, which had definitely become Steve's home by now. He still had his dorm room, of course, but he spent less than one night out of ten there. The rest he spent sleeping tucked in under his blanket between Loki and Tony, curled up in their arms and warmth and safety, and on those nights he didn't miss his own empty bed for even a second.

It felt like a reward, too. Because he was doing good, he was being the best he could be. He stayed put, he stayed silent, he did as he was told, he obediently accepted his food and drink from their hands, he smelled like them, he let them dress him, sat still while Tony cut his too-long hair, and then accepted Loki leading him into the shower to shampoo the results, rinsing the cut hairs off him. And it made them happy. Steve knew it did, he could tell by the warm, affectionate smiles and the way they held him close, breathing him in.

Still, he tried to keep seeing Bucky every Monday for lunch, but it was getting more and more difficult. Every moment he wasn't spending with them felt like a moment wasted. One he would never get back. All he wanted was to be close to them; watch Loki turn from his drawing to rub his fingers through Steve's hair, or be fed little morsels as Tony cooked their dinner, smelling the thick, lingering scent of oil on the mechanic's fingers when they brushed his lips.

 _”What are you doing all the time, Stevie? I never see you anymore.”_ Buck's voice so tense on the other end of the phone line, suspicious. _”You know you can tell me if you're in trouble, right?”_

All he could do was use school as an excuse, and as the weeks turned to months that white lie became more and more of a truth as the tests looming at the end of the semester came ever closer. A cold, hard reminder of reality. One he really didn't want.

Loki's classes didn't worry him. His private lessons hade become few and far between, but he still knew he had come a long way since they had started. Art history wouldn't be much of a problem either, since Loki agreed to give him some extra tutoring there as well after seeing the unease begin to build in Steve's eyes.

He had to spend a lot of time reading up for his classes in english and literature, but the worst one was still calculus. It was his weakest subject, and he felt a tense coil of stress begin to build in his gut the closer the exams came.

For the first time in a long time he found it difficult to stay put when they asked him to. His fingers itched to get back to work on what he needed done before the end of the semester, and he was too restless to simply sit still. At night he tossed and turned now, sleepless, and disturbed their rest in turn. One night making Loki, who had an early class the next day, grumble and turn his back, trying to hide under his pillow to find quiet and more sleep. Steve felt himself turn to a ball of drawn in limbs, to protect himself from the pain. He was a disappointment now, and he knew it. He didn't mean to be, didn't want to be, but he still was.

When he was just seconds from starting to cry into his blanket, throat tight and eyes burning, he felt Tony's heavy arm settle around him, pull him into that solid, hard chest. A nose rubbed into the hair at the back and side of his head until Tony's lips could find his ear, goatee tickling his jaw.

”Shh, easy now, precious thing”, he whispered on a warm breath against the shell of Steve's ear. ”What's wrong?”

”Can't sleep.” His own whisper in return was so strangled he wasn't sure Tony would even hear.

The softest little snort of a laugh touched him. ”Noticed. Why?”

”Calculus.” Steve pulled a slower breath, trying to calm himself at least a little. ”I'll fail it this semester.”

There was just a still silence for a while, and then Tony's arm tightened a fraction, jostling him a little. ”No, you won't. Come on.”

Tony slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, pulling Steve along, and then led him out of the bedroom altogether, leaving Loki to sleep in there alone. When he had closed the door carefully behind them he reached an arm out and pulled Steve back into his bare chest, making his face come to rest by Tony's neck this time as he wrapped both arms around Steve's narrow back.

”Don't worry. Okay? I'll help you. Get your books out and we'll have a look and then maybe you can get to sleep. All right?”

Steve pulled in a long breath full of warmth, salt, oil and metal, let his shoulders fall down for the first time in what felt like weeks, and nodded against the side of Tony's throat. And when those safe arms let him go he obediently went to get his bag, waiting by his shoes in the entrance hall, and followed Tony into the kitchen where they settled by the table. They didn't stay up too late that night, just long enough for Steve to know that yes, Tony could help him with this. He had a way of explaining that helped Steve see everything clearer, and suddenly it didn't seem as daunting and impossible as it had just a few hours ago.

It calmed him down enough that when Tony led him back to bed, pulled his front tight against the mechanic's chest, and a heavy, calloused hand came to slowly stroke his back warm, he could actually go to sleep.

It still wasn't enough for things to go back to the peaceful, satisfying way they had been, though. Steve was restless and a bundle of nervous energy he didn't know what to do with.

When the weather outside turned colder, chilling the damp, he contracted a stubborn cough that just got worse when he was lying down, making sleeping even harder. Until he asked them to let him sleep on the couch, propped up against the cushions in the corner. That was the only way he could get some rest without disturbing their sleep too much in the process.

Loki was worried about him, he knew that. The professor sat by his side on the couch at night before going to bed, stroking his hair, and offered to get him water, honeyed tea, some of Tony's scotch, anything he thought might help. During the day he often stopped by where Steve was sitting around studying, to rub a thumb over the now almost permanent worry line between Steve's blond eyebrows.

”You need to take care of yourself, sweet thing”, he would mumble into Steve's hair. ”We will always be here to take care of you, but you need to be careful, too.”

”I'll try”, Steve promised.

And he did. It was just so hard. Even though he knew he was doing everything he could to prepare, the tension just wouldn't leave him. At least the cough finally let up, but he asked to be allowed to keep sleeping on the couch until the exams were all over. He was just too restless. He could see that they didn't like it, though.

”We want you in our bed, precious thing.” Tony frowned, worried and unhappy, where he was standing across the coffee table, arms folded across his chest.

”I want to be there, too”, Steve was quick to assure. ”I just feel like I'm bothering you. Bad enough I don't get any sleep. Don't want to drag you down with me.”

Loki was sitting beside him on the couch, one hand on his closest knee, the other running through his hair in a soothing movement, sometimes softly scraping trimmed nails along his scalp. Out of the corner of his eye Steve could still see them exchange a long look, one that felt significant, a silent communication he wasn't allowed to be part of.

Then Loki's gentle smile turned his way. ”I will make you some warm milk, and then we'll see how you feel after that, shall we?”

Steve was fairly sure it wouldn't make any kind of difference what so ever, but he nodded. It couldn't make things worse, either, so he drank the milk down when Loki brought it and let himself be pulled up into the artist's lap afterward. Leaned into the wide chest, listened to the man's heartbeat, and let long-fingered hands play with his hair, stroke his cheek and forehead, rub warmth into his arm. And to his own surprise he felt a slow sort of sleepiness come over him while he sat there, stealing in over him so gradually he barely noticed until Loki put him back down on the seat and his hands and feet felt like they belonged to someone else.

”Wait here, precious, perfect thing”, Loki mumbled into his temple, leaning in over him where he was slumped into the backrest. ”We will be back soon.”

He blinked slowly, nodded, and watched Loki and Tony walk off, disappearing around the corner by the entrance hall. But he couldn't tell where they went.

Steve felt his eyelids grow heavy, like drops of lead were hanging from his lashes. It was difficult to keep his eyes open while he waited for them to return, and his body felt heavy, too. Heavy and warm. He barely noticed when he slouched down lower into the couch, rubbing a weakly closed fist over his eyes, like an over-tired child.

A noise made him blink his eyes open against the lights from the fixture in the ceiling. Footsteps. He saw Loki and Tony stand over him now, but he only recognized them from their respective colourations and the clothes he knew they had been wearing, really. Their faces seemed strange, dark and shifting in the shadows from the light over their heads. Behind them he was sure he saw a group of shadowy strangers filling the room. They had no faces at all, but he thought they were all watching him just as in intently as the two men right in front of him.

Raising a heavy hand again, Steve tried to hide his face. From the too-harsh light or from all those watching strangers, or perhaps both. He wasn't sure. The thoughts in his head were as slow and sluggish as his movements.

”Tell them to leave”, he murmured, tongue thick and numb. ”Don't want them watching.”

”Steve.” Loki's voice settled on him just as gently as his soft hands. ”Sweet thing. There's no-one here but me and Anthony. Just us.”

He wasn't sure he believed it. A part of him wanted to brush those now stroking hands away from his shoulder and hair, get up off the cushions and find out who else was in the room, who was there to see him like this. Whatever ”like this” was. He was too weak, though, and couldn't muster the will or the strength. So he just let his eyes stay closed. If he didn't see the strangers or the oddly shadowy faces of the two men he wanted there, still, then he could at least pretend everything was as it should be.

Even though his eyes didn't recognize them, his skin knew their touch. He knew that the long, spindly fingers grasping his shoulders were Loki's. He knew the more solid hold under his knees was Tony's. So when they half lifted, half tilted him to lie down along the seats of the couch he didn't struggle.

The gossamer caress of Loki's fingertips trailed along the hollow of his cheek. ”You're tired.” Breath and lips tickled the down at his hairline. ”Aren't you, sweet thing?”

All he managed for a reply was a helpless sound somewhere between a whine and a moan.

”Yes, we know. Don't worry. We'll get you clean and ready for bed, and tuck you in. Safe and sound.” The fingers moved down to the buttons on is shirt, slowly undoing them.

”We'll take care of everything”, Tony promised. ”You don't have to do anything at all. Just rest.”

Just rest. Yes, that sounded nice... They'd take care of him. And he really needed some rest. He did.

While Loki kept unbuttoning his shirt Tony's hands were stroking up the outsides of his thighs, and then settled on the buttons of his jeans. The sharp little tug opening them felt like the entire world was jerked to the side, but then he just knew the smoother movements of his pants and underwear sliding down his hips. Tony's thumbs took a moment to rub against the peaks of his hipbones before his hands moved to pull the garments all the way off, along with his socks.

All the buttons on his shirt had come undone by then, and Loki was lifting him off the seat to strip him of that, too. Supporting the back of Steve's head as if he had been an infant. Right then, he felt like one.

Tony's hands and arms felt so warm behind his back and under his legs when they lifted him off the couch altogether. The world tilted and spun behind his closed eyelids. He moaned into Tony's chest when he was securely held against it and felt his own warm breath catch in soft fabric. But the movements didn't stop, and he knew he was being carried away from the living room. He had no idea where, not until he was slowly lowered into a space with a strange, faint echo and he was surrounded by a kind of warmth that felt like a huge, wet mouth swallowing him whole.

The bathtub. Filled with water.

Something deep inside Steve shivered in fear when he figured that out, some half asleep notion of self-preservation telling him that if they slipped him down into the warm water now and left him there, there was a very real possibility that he would simply drown. Too weak to hold himself above the surface, far too weak to climb back out. His legs tensed in reaction, struggling to find something to brace against, find leverage, but his feet slid helplessly against the inside of the tub, made even more slippery by the soapy water. He wasn't tall enough to reach the other end of the tub, either, and for a moment his slow breathing began to speed up.

Then he felt a third hand under him, settling to cradle the back of his head while Tony's arms moved away and let him sink into the water by his own weight. Loki held him steady, allowing him to get deep enough that the surface reached his throat, his whole body submerged in the lovely water that was just the right temperature, but not letting him slip completely under.

”There, there”, Loki's voice soothed him, a gentle cooing echoing oddly off the sides of the tub. ”I've got you.”

And Steve believed that, so when Loki lowered him a little bit more, tilting his head back to wet his hair, he didn't struggle anymore. He just rested there, almost weightless in the water, and felt fingers rub shampoo into his hair.

Other hands were at his feet now. Tony's blunt, strong, steady hands. He knew the light scrape of callouses well now, could feel it even when those hands were slippery with soap as they rubbed at the arches of his feet, then cleaned the skin around his bony ankles, down the tops of his feet, even slipping carefully in between each and everyone of his toes.

”Don't lose my toes in the water”, Steve heard himself murmur. Somehow his feet felt so far away, and so disconnected from his body, he wasn't sure it was impossible for that to happen. ”Need them.”

A laugh so breathy he wasn't sure it was real. Or whose it was.

”I'll make sure not to lose them, I promise.” There was definitely amusement in Tony's voice, but at least the vow sounded sincere. So Steve just nodded in Loki's hand cupped behind his head, and let it go on.

Tony seemed done with his feet now anyway, and his hands made a final sweep over Steve's heels before they worked their way up his calves. Cleaning him and giving the firm rub of a gentle massage at the same time.

While Loki rinsed the lather out of his hair and then went on to start cleaning his upper body with the same kind of thorough but mild strokes, from his neck and armpits down his arms and chest, Steve felt Tony work his way up his legs. Behind his knees with movements firm enough not to tickle. Up his thighs.

Tony's two hands and Loki's single one all met by his hips, and then it was difficult to tell those hands apart anymore. All he knew was that two of them came sliding in between his thighs now, spreading his legs a little, making the the water touch parts of him that had been hidden before.

”Warm”, he muttered. ”All over.”

”Good”, came Loki's pleased whisper. ”Just the way you should be.”

One hand moved deeper in between his legs, stroking soap-slicked skin against his balls, then lower under them, all the way down to the crevice between his cheeks. A couple of fingers moved against him in what was almost a caress, but clearly in the intent of cleaning him and nothing else. Because a couple of strokes later the hand moved back the way it had come and was joined by a sibling, or maybe cousin, to move up into his pubic hair, lathering that up just like the hair on his head by the feel of it. A third hand caught his limp length, fingers moving the foreskin back to thoroughly clean every last inch of him.

Then they used the near weightlessness of his body in the water to get their hands under him, washing his back as well, before they rinsed him clean and got him out of the tub. He couldn't open his eyes at all, but he knew he was wrapped up in a towel and held in Loki's arms as he was padded dry, and then carried to bed. The sheets felt so wonderfully cool and soft under his heated, bare skin as he snuggled into his pillow. Or tried to; he was so heavy and weak he could barely move at all. But he didn't really need to, because he could already feel the bed dip and shift as they came to settle by his sides, arms moving to hold him.

The sense of safety was stronger than ever right then. A small, drifting part of him knew he was helpless. Steve couldn't make sense of why, but he still knew it was true. It just didn't matter. They had said they would take care of everything, and they had. So what did it matter if he couldn't move on his own anymore, couldn't protect and care for himself? They were there, they would do it for him, the way they always did.

”Love you”, he felt himself slur into the pillowcase, barely able to form words anymore. ”Both. So much.”

A moment of silence followed his words – a silence that would have made him ache with fear of rejection if he had still truly been awake. Now he just drifted in it, not fully aware of what he had said, or that it had been said aloud. Then the arms around him tightened their hold. Steve felt a warm touch of air through the damp hair on the back of his head and knew Tony was nuzzling him. Felt soft lips press a kiss to his forehead and knew that was Loki finding his favourite spot.

”We love you, too.” Loki murmured the words into his hairline.

”And we're so lucky to have you”, Tony added by his temple.

And even when he wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming, Steve still knew he'd never been this happy before in his life. He was safe, he was cared for, he was loved, and he made them happy in turn. It was all he could have ever wished for.

He didn't know it, but that was when he fell asleep.

* * *

Waking up was a slow, reluctant thing. Steve's mind was still drifting far away, his body still sluggishly heavy and unresponsive, and it took a long time before he managed to blink his eyes open. Even though he knew where he was before that; he knew the feeling of arms around his chest and waist, of strands of Loki's long hair tickling his face, of Tony's slow, even breaths fanning over his shoulder blade. Seeing the pale face in front of his bathed in the soft light of morning, sharp features and thin mouth softened in sleep, just made it all more real.

His memories of the night before were even more slow and reluctant to return, but then they started trickling back into him.

Steve frowned as the images unfolded like petals in the morning sun, shy and hesitant.

The warm milk, that was the last thing he remembered clearly. Then it was all foggy and hazy and soft around the edges. And he knew what must have happened, now. They hadn't just given him milk, had they? No, definitely not.

Which explained the way his body felt now, why his mouth seemed full of metallic tasting cotton, why he was so tired still.

Snatches of images from the night before came to him; being undressed, washed so thoroughly and intimately, from his armpits and feet to his ass. He turned his head to hide his blush in his pillow, even though no-one was awake to see it. Then the blush deepened when he remembered vaguely what he had said about losing his toes in the water. They must think he was a complete idiot.

He thought he remembered saying something else. Something much more important. It eluded him for a while, and when the memory came to him it wasn't in the shape of his own words.

_”We love you, too.”_

For a moment he was sure his hot face would set the pillow on fire. Steve couldn't believe he'd told them _that_.

Still, he couldn't deny it was true.

He curled up a little, making himself smaller between them, and heard Tony mumble something unintelligible in his sleep, moving closer, arm curling tighter around his chest, Tony's fingers slipping deeper in between Steve's ribs and the mattress. Smiling to himself Steve pulled a slow, deep breath, just to feel his ribcage flex into those fingers, while he watched Loki's eyes move in quick, restless shifts under his lids, veined faintly in blue and green under the thin, satiny skin.

Yes, it was true.

Somehow that knowledge turned into a shield he could hide behind, something to protect him from everything the real world had to throw at him. The tight knot of nervousness in his solar plexus loosened, just a bit, and he fell back asleep.

But when he pulled on his shoes, jacket and the by far too large scarf his mother had once knitted for him, to go to school that afternoon, he still felt more calm than he had in weeks. Even though it was to do his first exam, and even though it was the calculus exam he had that day, the one he had been dreading the most.

”You'll do fine.” Tony cupped Steve's face in his hands, tilting his head back just a little so their eyes could meet. The brown ones had a golden tint, and a smile formed soft creases around them. ”I know you will.”

Steve couldn't say much, so he just nodded into those hands and tried to return the smile.

”Better get going now, or you'll miss the bus”, Tony added, and Steve nodded again.

When Tony let him go he picked up his bag, swallowed, and looked up at the mechanic again. ”Thank you”, he said quietly, and saw the smile on Tony's face widen before he turned, slipped out the door, and hurried to the road through the cold winter air, sun already moving closer to the west. He couldn't stop himself wishing Loki had been there, too, to wish him luck, but the professor had left for work early that morning when Steve had still been asleep, so the artist hadn't even had time to say goodbye.

Sitting down in his usual seat on the bus, by the left window in the back, he settled his bag in his lap to pick out the calculus book, just to have a last look at his notes in the margins, when he noticed that the book wasn't the top one in the bag. Where he himself had placed it the night before. Frowning in confusion he ran his fingers over the cover of his sketchbook, which was the first thing to greet him when he opened the bag now. Steve pulled it out, noticing a piece of paper sticking out by the edge, and flipped through the pad to see what it was.

There was a drawing slipped in among the pages, and even if it hadn't been on a loose sheet of paper he would have known it wasn't his the moment he saw it. Steve would have recognized the smooth lines and the perfectly rendered details of Loki's work anywhere.

He pulled the drawing free to study it closer, and his breath hitched.

It was a nearly photo realistic drawing of Steve and Tony, both of them sound asleep in the bed. Their heads were tilted toward each other in the hollow of a shared pillow, their foreheads nearly touching. The different textures of their mingling hair so perfectly drawn that Steve could almost feel the heavy, glossy quality of Tony's dark half-curls, and the light thistledown of his own blond mess, his straight hairs so much finer and lighter. Their faces were softened by sleep, looking younger than usual, which meant the hint of crow's feet by Tony's eye was barely visible, while Steve looked even more like a boy than ever. Like all of Loki's work this one was black and white, but there was still a subtle shading showing Tony's darker skintone under his neat goatee. Their eyelids were smooth as satin, their slack lips seemed damp. He could almost see the tops of their bare shoulders move with their breaths, it was so lifelike.

The realism of the piece did nothing to take away the otherworldly sense of peace Loki had given it, though. The two of them looked like angels more than human beings, so glowing and perfect.

Steve knew without having to be told that this was the way Loki saw them. So very different, but both beautiful in his eyes. And Steve knew that this was Loki's way of wishing him good luck. He carefully slipped the drawing back into the sketchbook and then hugged it gently to his chest, head bent over it as he tried to blink away the touched burn behind his eyelids.

”Thank you”, he whispered to the the bundle of paper in his arms. ”For everything.”


	7. Abandoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of unfortunate events delayed this a bit. Hopefully you'll feel this makes up for it!

”Wow, there you are!” Bucky pushed away from the wall outside of their usual Monday lunch coffee shop where he had been waiting, half protected from the falling snow under the roof above. ”I was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen off the edge of the world or something.”

Steve forced a little smile onto his face and placed an arm around Bucky's back in turn when he slung an arm around Steve's shoulders while they walked inside, escaping the winter weather.

”I've had a lot to do”, he offered as an explanation, and it definitely was no lie. He had worked his way through all the exams and all there was left this year now was Christmas break – and he very much needed that break. ”Missed you, though.” And that wasn't a lie either. He had. 

”Missed you too, Stevie.” Bucky ruffled a hand through his hair as they parted to sit at their table. ”You're working way too hard if you can't even get away for lunch once a week, you know.”

”It's school, Buck”, Steve objected. ”I can't exactly choose when to do the work. But it's going to be better from now on.”

”Good to hear.” James gave him a crooked smile and then picked up his menu, browsing through this weeks lunch options.

Steve eyed the paper on the table in front of himself and somehow found it difficult to lift his hand and pick it up. It shouldn't have been; it was just a sheet of paper. But it felt heavy in his hands and when he held it up to read it all the words ran together into a black-and-white mess he couldn't make sense of. He wasn't used to being offered a choice of what to eat anymore and it suddenly felt way too much like a burden. How was he supposed to know what he should eat, what was best for him? Shaking his head he tried to focus and managed to make out the options under ”Monday”, slowly taking them in one after the other while he heard Bucky talking as if from very far away. 

By the time the waitress came by their table to take their orders he still hadn't managed to make a choice, however, so when Buck ordered the steak and fries he just ended up nodding and murmuring something about wanting the same. He wasn't sure he did, but he could no longer remember what the other dishes had been, or if he had wanted one of them more or not.

Steak was fine. Of course it was.

He woke up out of his confusion over food to realize that Bucky was looking at him with a worried frown on his face.

”You okay?”

”Sure.” But Steve's head tilted forward so he could hide his face a little while he toyed with the cutlery on the table. ”Just... I've had a lot to do, and I'm still a bit tired. It'll get better now when I can rest up over Christmas, though.”

”Good to hear, buddy. Then you're coming with me to my parents over Christmas as usual, right?”

Oh. Steve had forgotten all about that. Yes, he usually would let Bucky drag him to his parent's home over Christmas, not because he cared that much about the holidays, really, but because it made Bucky happy. And he had never had anywhere else he wanted to be more.

He did now, though. But how would he get out of this without telling the truth?

”I'd love to”, he started, hesitating, and then chose to go with the half-truth he'd offered his friend earlier that semester. ”My private lessons with professor Laufeyson have been on hold for a while, though, when I was busy with other school work. I need to catch up, and he promised to put in some extra lessons during break.”

As he spoke he realized this was also only half a lie. His lessons had been on hold, but not because of school. He had definitely had time, and there had been many days when he had been sitting next to Loki as he worked in the studio, but he had been staying put all that time. There hadn't been any lessons in weeks. Months, even, if he started counting those weeks together. But he hadn't thought about that. Steve had been too busy being taken care of.

”During _break_?” Bucky sounded confused and not a little disgusted. ”You can't be serious? I mean I thought the guy was sort of doing you a favour, but Stevie, that's not right!”

”It is if it's what I want”, Steve muttered, eyes still glued to the fork.

He heard James pull a sharp breath, probably for a just as sharp reply, but that was the moment the waitress came to put their plates in front of them and his friend had to cut himself off. By the time they had said their thank yous and she was gone again it seemed he'd lost track of what he had been about to say. At the edge of his field of vision Steve saw Bucky's big hands pick up the knife and fork to cut into the meat. Those hands were strong and calloused from work and they reminded him a lot of Tony's hands, suddenly, so Steve quickly looked at his own plate instead.

This was where he should be picking up his own utensils and dig in, because he was hungry and this was the kind of meal that would turn pretty gross as soon as it went cold. Instead he found himself sitting there staring at the meat and the golden fries, his hands feeling limp where they rested in his lap, and he suddenly had no idea how to proceed. It had been so long since he had cut his own food, since he'd put a bite into his own mouth, and now he didn't know how. Of course he practically knew how, and physically he was completely capable of lifting his hands and cutting a piece of meat, but the will to make the movements, to perform those actions, was long lost. There were no slim, pale hands here now to stroke his hair and no thin but pleased smile to tell him it was time to open his mouth, no smooth voice reminding him to chew properly, or tell him that he needed just another bite, that it would do him good. There were no dark, warm eyes watching from across the table, no openly fascinated face with slightly parted lips taking in the bob of his throat as he swallowed the latest mouthful. There was just Bucky, more or less inhaling his meal and not caring in the least about what Steve was doing.

He found himself missing the attention, the intense, ever-present attention. Eyes always on him, hands always touching, guiding. He missed their directions. He needed them; both the directions and the men giving them.

Now all he could do was stare at the rapidly cooling steak and wonder what he should do next.

”He should let you rest during break.” Apparently Bucky had eaten enough of his meal to get back to their conversation now. ”That's what break is for. And doesn't he have family to spend Christmas with, anyway?”

Steve frowned at his plate and, distracted by the question, finally managed to pull his hands from their hidingplace under the table and get to work cutting the steak. It wasn't as good as the meat Tony served, but it was all right.

”I don't know”, he answered honestly, because he didn't. Now that he thought about it he knew absolutely nothing about Loki's life, or Tony's. Once, what felt like eons ago, Tony had mentioned that they had met each other fourteen years ago, which meant that they couldn't possibly have been more than around twenty, at the most. Loki perhaps even younger than that, since Steve knew Tony was a few years older than the artist. But besides that, he knew nothing about their past, their backgrounds, their family life. Nothing. ”I guess he doesn't, since he offered to give those lessons.”

”And you prefer to go to those lessons over celebrating Christmas?”

Steve at last looked up from his plate to Bucky's worried and displeased face. He swallowed a bite of meat he really hadn't chewed properly, and scrambled for words.

”It's not about that. I mean, it's not that I wouldn't like to spend Christmas with you and your parents. Really. But this is important. I'm not going to have another chance like this, Buck. Ever. And I can't say no. I just can't.”

Bucky gave him a long, thoughtful look. ”Are you sure he's doing this for your sake?”

Steve stared. ”What?”

”I'm worried he's... you know. Using you.”

At once Steve felt like he was choking on thin air. ” _Using_ me?!” He almost sputtered. ”I'm the one getting lessons for free!”

”Yeah, which I guess is making you feel like you're in his debt. Right?”

Steve had to take a slow breath to answer calmly. ”Is it so unlikely that he just wants to help and support me in reaching my goals?”

”Why, though? He's just your teacher, Steve, it's not like he's a friend.”

”I dunno, Buck – because he _likes_ me, perhaps?”

And then there came a slight curl of disgust to Bucky's upper lip at that, eyebrows pulling together over his nose. ”That's exactly what I'm afraid of.”

All at once Steve felt dirty. And in that moment he hated Bucky for making him feel that way, for ruining something that was making him happy, making him feel valued for once in his miserable little life. Something James should have been giving him all along but never had, because to his friend, Steve's dreams and hopes were all just silly ideas he'd get over once he grew up and came to his senses.

He felt like screaming, but he made himself swallow it down. But that turned his throat to a tight knot and he knew he wouldn't get anything more down.

”You know what?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few bills, not even bothering to count the sum they made up, and slapped them on the table while he rose from his chair. ”I've lost my apetite.”

With that he pulled his jacket and scarf off the chair, turned and started walking out. While he pulled his clothes on he could hear Bucky call his name, but he never looked back.

* * *

When Steve finally reached the red brick house, warm lights falling on the snow outside through the kitchen windows, all he wanted was welcoming smiles and a hug. He was tired to the bone, and still hungry since the lunch had been such a disaster. But when Loki opened the door to let him in the scowl greeting him told Steve right away that his hopes were in vain.

”Where have you been?” The artist sounded thoroughly unhappy to even have to ask, but at least he stepped aside to let Steve inside.

”I saw Bucky for lunch.” He kept his eyes down while getting his winter boots off and hanging his wet jacket on a hook, and when he looked up again Loki had crossed his arms in a rigid hold across his chest.

The professor didn't say anything else, he just turned and walked into the livingroom. When Steve followed he saw that Tony was sitting in the couch, and now Loki walked across the room to sit down by his side. They both watched him come to a halt by the footstool on the opposite side of the round coffee table, matching lines between their eyebrows, identically pursed lips.

”We wondered where you were”, Tony said after a moment's silent watching. ”We were getting worried.”

”The roads are awful, Steve.” Loki leaned closer in his seat, the line between his eyebrows turning to three. ”What if something had happened?”

”I'm sorry.” He found himself hanging his head in shame. ”I just usually go to lunch with him on Mondays.” Probably not from now on, but he didn't want to think about that.

”Did you ask us permission to leave?” Tony's voice was sharper than Steve had ever heard it, and he had to fight an urge to cringe.

”No.” It was almost a whisper.

”We care about you, Steve.” Loki sounded a bit softer, but still stern. ”But when you ignore us like this, we wonder if you feel the same.”

He raised his head to quickly his neck actually hurt a little. ”I do!” He spoke so fast the words stumbled over each other. ”I swear I do. I'm so sorry! I never wanted you to worry; I just didn't think things through. Please? I'm sorry.”

”Yes, we know.” Tony still sounded so sharp, and his lips looked so thin when they were this tense.

”But sorry doesn't always make things better.” While he spoke Loki crossed his arms in front of himself again.

Steve's eyes flitted quickly from one of them to the other and back again, searching for clues. There was nothing to find, though, and he knew he would have to ask. ”What can I do to make it up to you? I'll do anything.” He swallowed but it did absolutely nothing to remove the lump stuck in his throat, tasting bitter and sour.

Again they regarded him in silence, until Tony gave a slow nod and then pointed a blunt finger to the stool by his side. ”Then stay put. Right there. And don't even think about moving until we tell you this time.”

Steve's knees folded so fast that he barely had time to turn around so his ass would land on the black leather of the low seat. It was just a little bit too hard to be a comfortable place to sit for a longer period of time, made as it was to just rest your feet on it, but he couldn't care less at the moment. He would have stayed sitting there for as long as they wanted even if it had been a wooden board full of rusty nails.

Knees together, hands clutching at each other in his lap, he kept his eyes down and stayed silent. He knew he'd said everything he could and that they wouldn't want him to speak now, unless spoken to. All he could do was wait, to be allowed to move, or to receive a new order.  
For a while they stayed on the couch, probably doing whatever they had been doing when he showed up at the door. He heard the soft shuffle of paper and some quiet exchanges of words, but he was too wrapped up in his own guilt to hear what was being said. Steve knew they weren't speaking to him anyway.

Then they left and walked into the kitchen. He heard water being boiled, things being picked out from the fridge, could smell bergamot and knew they were making tea. Tea, and probably sandwiches. There would be none for him, he knew that, but it didn't matter anymore. His hunger had turned to a tight ball of nausea in his gut and he didn't think he could have kept anything down even if they had offered.

They settled down by the kitchen table to have their tea, leaving him alone in the livingroom.

Steve started to feel more uncomfortabe by the minute now. Not as much physically as mentally, and emotionally. He could sit there until his ass got sore, he didn't care about that, but this punishment was robbing him of all the things he needed from them. Of course a punishment wasn't meant to be pleasant, that would take away the purpose of it, but this was worse than he had thought it would be. Steve had realized just earlier that day that he needed their attention, and now it was snatched away from him. Worse yet – _they_ were snatched away. They had gotten up and left the room. Left him behind.

If he just leaned to the right he would probably be able to see at least Loki in his seat by the end of the table, and even from where he was sitting now he could hear every little movement, every softly spoken word, but that didn't make it better. That only made Steve feel worse. Like he was a ghost; something cut off from their world, no longer a part of their lives.

His hands were twined so tightly around each other his fingers hurt by the time he heard the scrape of their chairs as they got up and moved to clear the table, then turning the kitchen lights off. Steve kept his eyes on the floor and all he could see was their feet as they walked by, not even pausing where he was sitting as they went to the bathroom. He could hear the tap running and the faint whirring of electric toothbrushes. Then the muted sound of the door between the bathroom and their bedroom opening and closing, and he knew they weren't coming back out to him. They were going to bed without him, leaving him there alone in just the faint lighting from a lamp in one of the windows above the couch.

The knot in his stomach tightened so much he doubled over in his seat from the hollow ache. His lungs, already too small and weak and strained, all at once felt like they knew nothing of air. Steve felt his heart speed up, thumping uselessly agains his ribs trying to pump blood now empty of oxygen through his stiff, cold body.

They left. They walked out and left.

Tears so hot they felt like burning acid slipped from his tightly shut eyes, but he swallowed back the sob that came with them.

Steve should be used to this, he really should, because everyone left him.

First his mother died and left him forever. Then his father – although to be frank he had never actually been there to begin with. He had left Steve and his mother so many times before he passed on that it being permanent wasn't even much of a surprise anymore.

Any kind-of-friend or almost-friend, any nearly-girlfriend he had ever had had also ended up leaving, with or without an explanation.

Bucky had been a constant, but Steve had always known, somewhere deep inside, that it couldn't last. After all, Bucky had never hesitated to leave Steve behind if a girl showed up at a party and Buck decided that he'd rather be with her. It hurt as much every time, but Steve had always made the choice to swallow it down and deal with it, because saying anything might lead to Bucky actually leaving him as well, for good. And Steve was far from sure he would have gotten through that.

After today perhaps Bucky would leave him, after all. If it couldn't be said that for the first time ever, Steve had been the one to leave someone.

And now his thoughtless behaviour had cost him the two other important people in his life as well.

One short day, and at the end of it he had nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

Steve wrapped his arms around his middle and felt the muscles tense in stuttering little cramps around his sobbing, half-choked breaths. He tried to keep it in, he had no idea how long he kept fighting it back, but it was a losing battle from the start. The panic came creeping in on him along with the gray blotches at the edge of his peripheral vision, and he had lost all track of time when the sobs wouldn't let themselves be held back anymore. His breathing was a wheezing hiss that hurt his throat and burned in his lungs, he was staring straight ahead through the blur of tears and saw nothing, bony knees pressing together so hard he would find bruises on them later. Doubled over and clutching his own sides.

But he didn't leave his seat. He stayed put. Even now.

In this state he never heard the door to the bedroom open, so he only became aware that he was no longer alone when he felt two sets of arms wrap around his trembling body. And when he became aware of it, it just made any remaining restraint he'd had evaporate. He was shaking, sobbing so hard he couldn't get a proper breath at all, and still tried to talk. Mostly it was a wet, garbled mess of apologies that he barely understood himself, until he finally heard them hushing him softly.

”Please”, Steve managed clear enough to hear, rushing out on a gasped breath. ”Don't leave me.”

”We won't, precious thing”, Tony promised as his strong arms gathered Steve up completely, lifting him off the stool and placing him in Tony's lap, where he was kneeling on the floor. He was still tightly curled up around his sobbing breaths but he could feel Loki kneeling close by his other side, holding him as well, and it was so familiar and safe. ”You're ours, and we will never leave you.

”We are right here.” Loki's words were followed by fingers stroking his hair. ”Just breathe now, sweet thing. Breathe, slowly, yes, just like that”, the artist praised him as soon as he managed to slow his breathing a fraction. ”Relax. We're here, and not going anywhere.”

For a while all he did was follow those gentle little orders, getting his breathing under at least a measure of control, getting his body to relax enought that he could let his legs drop to the floor instead of being drawn up to his chest. Which also made breathing a bit easier, calming him more in turn.

”Sorry”, Steve whispered as soon as he had his voice back somewhat, even though the word amost broke in his throat and made tears stream down his face all over again. ”I'm so sorry! I never meant -”

”Shhh, no, don't be sorry.” Following the firm words Tony pulled him even closer into his chest, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

”We are the ones who should apologize to you, Steve.” He felt Loki push closer in turn. ”You made a mistake, yes, but ours was worse.” The long-fingered hands were stroking his head and shoulder and his shins and knees. ”We thought we needed to teach you a lesson, show you how much it hurt us to be pushed aside, and ignored. We thought that you didn't understand. But we were wrong. So wrong.” A thumb swept the tears still rolling down his cheek away. ”You already know. And we shouldn't have put you through this.”

Steve started shaking his head under the soothing hands. ”But that just makes it...” A wracking sob interrupted him for a moment. ”Makes it _worse_. That I...” A wheezing gasp. ”Did this. To you. Anyway. Knowing that it _hurts_.”

”No, no, sweetheart, stop.” Tony shook him a little, so very gently, but enought to snap him out of the panic starting to fill him all over again. ”It was an honest mistake, you never meant to hurt us. But we meant to punish you, and we shouldn't have. We should have told you how we felt, instead. You're so bright, Steve. And you have such a huge heart I have no idea how it fits inside you. We should have known telling you was more than enough. We're sorry. And we will never do something like that to you again.”

”Never”, came the earnest echo from Loki, whose voice sounded a bit torn now, too. ”We never want to hurt you, sweet thing, not ever.”

The crying Steve succumbed to then was different from the choking, mindnumbing terror and panic from before. This was more relief than fear, and he got his hands free from his middle to instead cling on to Tony's arm, to Loki's hand, anything he could get a hold of that could assure him that they were really there.

They held and hushed and comforted him like that until his tears at last ran dry. By then he felt limp like a rag doll in Tony's lap, but his stomach took the opportunity to make a rumbling noise to remind him that he hadn't eaten properly since breakfast. Which Loki quickly got him to confess to, making the man promptly get up to walk into the kitchen and return a few minutes later with a cheese sandwich and a cup of warm milk. Steve remembered what had happened the last time he'd accepted a similar drink before bed, but nothing could have made him decline even so.

It seemed the cup actually held nothing but milk this time, however. Considering how worn and wrung out Steve was that was all he needed, anyway, and he had barely swallowed the last bite of the sandwich Loki fed him before his eyes threatened to just fall shut.

Without letting go of him Tony managed to get to his feet and carried him to bed. They made short work of stripping him to his underwear before placing him in his usual spot in the middle of the bed and curling up around him.

”We'll be here when you wake up.” Tony sealed the reassurance with a kiss on his shoulder. 

”We'll always be here.” And Loki kissed that spot right by his hairline he seemed to prefer.

Steve gave a trembling little sigh, snuggled deeper into their arms, and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

He wasn't sure if he was awake again or if he was dreaming when he heard hushed whispers, voices he thought he should recognize but couldn't place right then.

”You told him yourself – he's ours. And he needs to know that.”

”We messed up last night, though.”

”That is why he needs to know, now more than ever.”

”You think so?”

”I do, Anthony. And don't even try telling me you don't want to show him.”

”Yeah, I do. You sure he's ready?”

”Oh, I know he is.”

The voices turned to silence and Steve thought he fell back to sleep, drifted, his half-dreaming mind not able to linger on what he had heard, or make any sense of it.

When he touched down in reality the next time it was to the sensation of hands touching him softly and sweetly, skin against his what felt like all over, warm and close. He made a barely awake little mewling noise, burrowing his face into something he thought could have been the angle between a shoulder and a pectoral; it was firm with muscle under the smooth skin and he caught a hint of salt and spice from the armpit so close by. The hands on him turned from stroking him to closing around his arms and legs, carefully shifting and moving him, and when they let go again he wasn't resting on the mattress anymore, but on another body. Placed face down on someone else, and the confusion made him try to move away.

It was Loki who hushed him softly as the artist's light hands settled on his shoulders. ”No, sweet, precious thing, just stay like this.”

At first Steve squirmed a little anyway, still not truly awake, but then one of Loki's hands flattened between his shoulder blades, palm running down along his spine, soothing and pressing him against Loki's chest. At the same time he could feel one of Tony's palms settle on his lower back, sliding up along his spine in the same way, pushing his hips down as well. That touch and the movement it triggered made him realize that they had removed his underwear as well, leaving him naked. He started tensing up a little again under their hands at that, but that just made Tony's hand turn heavier.

”Stay put, now”, he heard the mechanic mutter behind him. ”Just like that.”

Swallowing heavily Steve made himself obey. He pulled in a deep breath. With the way he now had his face resting right by Loki's throat it filled his nose with the scent of the man, grounding him, and he felt himself begin to relax again. He let his arms settle around Loki's wide shoulders and nuzzled his face a little closer.

”There we are”, the artist said, stroking his back again. ”We will take such good care of you, you know that, don't you?”

Steve nodded against Loki's warm skin, long, soft hairs tickling Steve's face, and felt the satisfied murmur vibrate against his cheek more than he heard the words telling him he was doing well, so well.

Then Tony's hand also resumed stroking his back, before moving to adjust his position until he was completely stretched out on his front on top of Loki, his legs spread so he was almost straddling Loki's waist except he wasn't on his knees but had his legs stretched back, resting along the outside of the taller man's. He heard the mechanic give a pleased little hum as his hand instead came to caress its way up the back of Steve's right thigh, to his ass cheek, thumb rubbing against the smooth skin there.

”Perfect.” There was a smile in Tony's voice.

Loki's arms wrapped themselves around his back, both holding him in place and holding him close, a hand running into his hair and tucking his head even more firmly against Loki's throat, under his jaw. Steve was starting to really wake up now, understanding that this was real, not a dream, and he felt his breathing speed a little, his heart thump harder, and Loki had to feel it with the way their ribcages were pressed together. Maybe that was why the fingers in his hair kept stroking him, satiny soft words wrapping him in love and reassurances.

”We would never hurt you. You're our precious, perfect thing and you mean far too much to us. You're ours, and you make us so happy.” The long arms held him a little tighter, while Tony's hands traced the creases between his thighs and ass, trailing up to his hips, and then a fingertip tenderly felt its way right down the crevice, making Steve shiver. ”We want to make you feel good, sweet thing.” And there the silky voice turned deeper, husky. ”We want you to feel all the pleasure you give us. Will you let us?”

Steve's heart was beating even harder now, but it was for a different reason. His face against Loki's skin was turning hot, he felt his own lips move against that pale softness, but he found no words.

”Please?” Tony must be leaning down over him now because that word was spoken against the skin right at the top of his ass. And then warm lips settled there in a moist little kiss, followed by another, and another, following in the trail his fingertip had charted just moments ago. Steve could feel the skin on his backside turn to goosebumps with the brush of breath and the light tickle of soft beard, and the knowledge of exactly where those lips were touching him.

Unable to hold back a whimper, filled with a mixture of need and want and embarrassment, Steve held on harder to Loki's shoulders and gave a sharp little nod into the pillar of his throat. His skin felt feverishly hot against theirs now.

”Thank you, sweet thing”, Loki murmured.

The words were just barely out of his mouth before Tony's thumbs sank into Steve's cheeks, spreading them, and then his mouth was there again, even closer, tongue lapping at him. Steve felt himself twitch with the startling sensation, giving a groan more deep and needy than any noise he'd ever heard out of himself. But then he was all but lost in the feeling of Tony continuing to stroke the sensitive skin with his tongue, lovingly mapping him out, the tip just putting a teasing pressure on his asshole.

Gasping and squirming to get closer, Steve noticed that he was hard already, rubbing right into Loki's abdomen. And he could _feel_ the grin spreading on Tony's lips as he pulled back a little, only to then rub his cheek against Steve's ass, like an affectionate cat. Which made Steve instantly forget any idea that he was being mocked.

”So good for us”, he both heard and felt Tony say against his skin before the man moved back more. ”So good.”

Those familiarly blunt and sure fingers came back to him then, slick against his skin now. Much more slick than they had ever been with soap when washing him. Steve knew what that meant, and without even meaning to, really, he felt himself tense up again. Even though those fingers were only stroking and teasing, just like Tony's tongue had before.

A soothing hush came by his ear. ”No need to worry, sweet thing. He has such skilled hands”, Loki purred, petting his head and neck and shoulders. ”You can trust him to know what to do.”

Besides being comforting, those words also sparked a series of mental images of how Loki had taked advantage of those skilled fingers himself. And at once Steve knew this wasn't just something they did _to_ him – they did it _with_ him. What they wanted for him was nothing they wouldn't want themselves. A nervous part of him, still fearing rejection, had filled him with vicious little whispers about how this was something they could use to humiliate him, but he knew now that it wasn't. They wanted him. All of him.

His next breath was some sort of cross between gasp and sob, but Steve made himself relax, try to melt into Loki's welcoming arms. Show that he wanted them to have him. All of him. That he wasn't fighting it.

Tony, noticing the relaxation, murmured soft praises as the tip of his first finger slipped inside, started slowly and gently and patiently and thoroughly opening him up. All the while his other hand was stroking and petting any part of Steve's skin he reached; thighs, ass, back, pressing into the knobs of his spine, the place where the bones were just beneath the skin at his lower back, moving around his body to curl fingers around the jut of a hipbone. It was far from the first time Steve had noticed Tony's interest in the prominent bones of his body, but now, floating on a high of steadily rising pleasure at the man's hands, he wondered why. Perhaps it simply reminded him his machines and constructions, feeling out the machinery making up Steve as well.

He found he didn't actually care, though.

He was lost to the world anyway, and was only slowly returned to it when he realized Tony's fingers had been taken away, that Loki was giving ecstatic little moans by his ear and moving restlessly under Steve's body now.

Curious, Steve made himself push up on his elbows. Not in an effort to get away, no definitely not. He just needed to _see_. He swallowed as he slowly turned his head to glance over his shoulder, seeing the darkly intense gaze in Tony's wide, dilated eyes fixed on where his left hand was settled on Steve's thigh, his right arm working in such a distinctive rhythm that it was obvious that he was using that hand to stroke Loki, even though Steve couldn't actually see it from this angle. So instead he turned back to watch Loki's face, half afraid he would find it ready to scold him for moving. But he needn't have worried; the artist's head was pressed back into the pillow under it, eyebrows drawn together in a knot over screwed shut eyes, his white teeth clutching his bottom lip, making it swollen and red. And when he spoke he didn't even open his eyes, or address Steve.

”Anthony!” The name was a groan more than anything. ”Enough teasing!”

And Tony actually chuckled. ”Well, if you're both ready...”

At once Loki's eyes blinked open and those bright, liquid, glowing turquiose gems instantly found Steve's wide eyes. And then smiled. Both of Loki's hands slipping up the nape of his neck and into his hair. ”We are”, he said simply.

Hands immediately settled on Steve's hips, tugging him back just a little, getting him in place. And he never thought to offer a protest to the statement because he knew that they knew best, and that he could trust them to make the decision if he was ready for what they wanted. Then one of those hands left him again, and moments later the slick, hot, thick tip of Loki's cock was pushing against him, and then, without any hesitation, into him. Both his mouth and Loki's fell open at the shared but oh so different sensations.

There was a heartbeat of burning stretch, but then that was over just at quickly and all Steve knew was feeling full and the slow drag of just enough friction to feel amazing without burning or chafing, until Loki was all the way inside. And staying still there, letting Steve's insides accept the intrustion, settling and relaxing. The artist's mouth was still open when he pulled Steve back into his neck, tucking him under his jaw, cradling him in his long arms.

”Oh, you sweet, _sweet_ thing!”, he breathed into Steve's hair, before slowly pulling back most of the way out, only to lift his hips and push right back in. Still moving slowly. ”Sweet, lovely thing... You feel absolutely perfect.”

Steve was moaning something that could have been meant to be words but he wasn't sure himself.

Behind him, Tony's hands had still not stopped caressing him, not for a moment. And apparently the mechanic had never stopped watching, either.

”If it feels half as good as it looks it has to be amazing”, he commented while stroking a hand up the straining muscles of Steve's lower back. ”Actually I'm not sure which one of you I envy most right now”, he murmured, tone warm and smiling.

”It ought to be me, Anthony.” Loki chuckled softly. ”You've had me, but never this.” He turned to press a hot, humid kiss to Steve's ear, words just slightly unsteady with his movements as he kept fucking up into him, deep and thorough, slowly and smoothly. ”And oh, it is something to have.”

Tony groaned, his hand moving to push Steve's hip down a little, making him take Loki even deeper, driving a matching groan from the artist. ”Well, I will get to find out soon enough.”

All Steve could do at the promise in those words was shudder in Loki's arms.

As it turned out, it wasn't that long until Loki's hand fisted in Steve's blond hair in what felt like an involuntary movement, his body tensing and bucking up much more erratically into Steve for a moment before he turned loose and limp under him. Panting, and his heart beating so fast against Steve's sternum.

”Hmmm, I think you feel too good”, he muttered, words slurred, as his fingers let go of Steve's hair and moved in lazy strokes through it instead. ”Far too good, sweet thing.”

Tony gave a breathless little laugh, and then curled his hands around Steve's hips again to lift him, change his position, and thereby made Loki's softening cock slip out of his body. Steve felt slightly sad to feel it leave, but he didn't get much time to mourn that loss before he felt Tony move, shift both himself and Steve around a little. Until he had his own knees planted between Loki's and Steve's legs and had pulled Steve's ass a bit higher into the air, making his face come to rest on the top of Loki's chest instead of by the crook of his neck.

Without thinking Steve found himself arching his back, trying to get closer to Tony's hips, which were just brushing against him. He wanted more. Needed more. And he knew Tony could and would give it. All he could hope for was that the man wouldn't make him wait.

He didn't. He just settled strong hands back around Steve's hips, thumbs again spreading him open, and then moved to begin pushing in.

And Steve gasped and whimpered at the new stretch, unprepared for the difference. Now he knew why they had taken him in this order, because Tony was clearly the bigger of the two, but he did his best to fall back into the relaxation from before. Helped along by Loki, who had by now shaken off the aftereffects of his climax and was caressing his head and shoulders, mumbling reasurrances, how well he was doing, how good he was for them, how good Tony would feel...

The last was startlingly true. Not only did the extra girth feel good once his body adapted to it, but the new position and Tony's angle moving into him hit a spot that made white sparks flare behind his eyes. Soon he was a panting mess scrabbling for a hold on Loki's wide, sweaty shoulders, unable to stop the long, continuous moan coming out of him, just rising and falling with his laboured breaths and Tony's ever harder thrusts. He had a rough edge that Loki, with his slow, rolling, sinuous movements, hadn't had.

Steve could never have decided which one he preferred and was genuinely happy he most likely would never be asked to choose.

Tony then leaned in over him, planting a hand for support on the mattress right by Loki's shoulder, breathing heavily in Steve's hair. ”You really do feel too good, precious thing. It's lucky you're ours, and ours alone, so we can take care of you and no-one else can have you. They wouldn't treat you the way you deserve.” The rolls of Tony's hips had slowed a little now, to let him speak. ”So lucky you're ours. Isn't it?”

Still moaning helplessly, Steve nodded against the hot damp of Loki's pectoral.

”Then say it.” The mechanic panted, groaned, _growled_ into his ear, thrusts coming harder again and in just the right angle, making Steve's entire world white out with pleasure. ”We need to hear you say it!”

”Yours!” He gasped it out, sucking in air between the sensations of Tony driving deep into his body, the word wet and slippery with his own drool. ”Only yours!”

As soon as he admitted the truth Tony's other hand was wrapping around his cock and it didn't even take a full stroke of those hot, still slick fingers before Steve choked out a shout and came all over Loki's stomach. Only seconds before Tony tumbled with him over the edge of the world, slumping down over his back. Then he was helplessly caught between their sweaty, sticky, panting, lovely bodies, and everything was over.

Although everything had only just begun.


	8. Is this a test?

Early morning on Christmas Eve, Steve woke up to a dip in the mattress, blinked his eyes open, and found Tony's brown eyes smiling at him. The mechanic was fully dressed already, stretched out on his front on Loki's side of the bed, and now he reached a hand out to cup Steve's cheek softly.

”We're going grocery shopping for Christmas, okay? You can just stay snuggled up here in bed, if you want to.”

Rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep out of them Steve turned his head under Tony's hand and caught a glimpse of the world outside the window. It was a swirl of white, so Steve turned back with a groan and burrowed back into pillow and blanket while Tony laughed at him.

”Good choice”, the man said, stretching closer and pressing a kiss to his temple. ”See you later then, precious thing.”

”Bye, Tony.”

He glanced up from behind the blanket just in time to see Tony wink at him before he slipped out the door to the livingroom, shut it, and was gone.

Smiling to himself Steve at first just stayed there under his blanket, wrapped up in a warm litte nest while the world outside was cold and wet and miserable. He thought he might go back to sleep, but after a while he knew he was too wide awake for that now. Instead he sat up in bed, legs crossed like a tailor's, hands in his lap, and looked around the room. The green and gold and rusty red colours, the dark wood. His own clothes from yesterday draped over the back of a chair by the wall on Loki's side, one of Tony's t-shirts on top of the dresser by the window on his side.

With a new smile in place Steve pushed the blanket aside and shuffled on heels and hands and ass across the bed to Tony's side, dropping himself the always as surprisingly long way down to the floor, and walked over to pick the garment up. It was one of the mechanic's favourites, a dark gray one with some almost faded print, that he never wore to work on the cars or his sculptures. So when Steve buried his face in the worn-soft cloth it smelled only of Tony, and nothing else.

When he placed it back on the piece of furniture his eyes wandered down the four drawers, all with two metal knobs to open them with. Overcome by a sudden curiosity he felt a strong urge to pull them open, one by one, and rummage through whatever was inside. Biting his lip to hold the impulse back he glanced over his shoulder at the empty room. Doors still closed. They had left perhaps half an hour ago. They would be gone at least that long yet, most likely even longer. Steve turned back and considered the dresser again, lip still between his teeth, and ran his fingertips along the top edge of the thing. He really wanted to see what they kept in there. He wanted to know. He wanted to know them. 

During that last lunch with Bucky he had realized that he didn't. Not really. He know nothing of their lives, who they had been once, where they came from. Did they have parents somewhere? Siblings? Maybe he could find some kind of clue here.

Steve knew he shouldn't find out things about them this way, that it was a breach of their privacy, their trust, but even while he was thinking that his hands moved to the knobs on the top drawer and pulled it open.

That one held a mess of underwear, most of which he knew on sight by now. Then he frowned. Some of these he had seen on Tony, some on Loki, but they were all mingled together here. And then he realized that they must share them. The strange intimacy of that made him blink and swallow and push the drawer shut again without even pawing through the collection of boxer briefs.

The second had a similar mess of socks inside. Steve pushed that one shut untouched as well.

The third drawer seemed to be that typical ”I have no idea where I should put this thing so I'm putting it here while I figure it out” drawer that every home in the world probably has. There were all sorts of little things stuffed in there – a sewing kit (where Steve recognized the spool of black thread Tony had once fetched for Loki from this drawer), a few scissors, string, rope, leather scraps, tools Steve thought were for leatherworking, some dark green cloth, an old can of paint, and so much more it was difficult to make it all out in the chaos. He still knew he wouldn't find anything there to tell him hidden truths.

In the bottom drawer were mostly neatly folded linens for the bed, but shoved to the left side was a blue little tube Steve saw was lubricant as soon as he picked it up. Behind it he saw something made of leather, but not the same kind of material as he had seen in the drawer above this one. This leather was thick and sturdy, and it didn't take him long to see it was fashioned into cuffs. Four of them, two slightly smaller. For wrists and ankles. They were shoved almost all the way to the back of the drawer. 

Licking his lips Steve rubbed a thumb over the inside of one of the smaller cuffs, feeling the surprisingly soft inside. Maybe it was dressed with suede, or something similar? Then he dropped the thing back where he had found it and went to push the drawer in again.

Only it wouldn't budge. He must have pulled it out the wrong way or too far, out of the metal tracks it moved on. Sighing, Steve pulled it all the way out, settling it on his thighs where he was kneeling on the floor now, and was just about to try getting it into place properly when he noticed something catching the light, something in the compartment under the drawer. Steve put the wooden container down on the floor by his side and leaned forward, looking into the dark space, blinked, and stared.

He had gone looking for hidden secrets, but this was a lot more than he had ever bargained for.

There where photographs in the hidden space, lots of them, all in a messy pile as if they had just been thrown in there. Here and there the corner of a paper was showing among the photos, but they were few in comparison. Frowning in confusion Steve reached out to pick one of the pictures up. Curious, and with a mounting feeling that if he did this, if he looked closer at this prticular secret, it would change things. Forever.

He didn't stop. As if driven by their own will his fingers caught the corner of a photo and he lifted it off the pile to study it closer.

The picture showed a young man, perhaps barely more than a boy, stretched out on an unknown bed. His blond head and skinny arms propped up on a pillow. Serious, dark blue eyes were looking straight into the camera from a narrow face. The photo only showed his body halfway down his chest, but at least that much of him was naked, nipples shockingly dark against his pale skin.

Steve's hand was trembling a little when he dropped that picture back into the compartment and picked up another.

In this one another young man was asleep on a very familiar couch; the one standing in the next room right now. Even though the room around it in the picture was not the same one. This man was dressed, but the heavy, boneless way he was draped over the cushions, head tilted almost unnaturally far back over a couple of throw pillows, made Steve suspect he was actually unconscious rather than asleep. His hair was blond. So pale it was almost white. And the hand hanging off the side of the seat was long and thin, fragile-looking.

Steve's fingers found one of the papers next, and it was no surprise to see that it was covered in Loki's sketches. All the ones on this sheet showed quickly but expertly drawn hands and feet, as thin and bony as Steve's own, and held in place by what had to be the very same leather cuffs Steve had found only minutes ago.

Next he caught another photo, this one showing a third youth, kneeling naked on an unfamiliar, very dark hardwood floor. His blond head was bowed down, only showing a hint of a cheekbone and golden lashes where his eyes were lowered too, but his build was so similar to Steve's own it could have been a picture of him. He couldn't stop staring at the knobs of the vertebrae leading down the back of his neck to the prominent shoulder blades, the lines of the narrow back, arched by the position. When his eyes reached the young man's ass, startlingly rosy compared to the rest of him, Steve quickly looked away and dropped the picture with the others again.

Steve ran his fingertips over the glossy surface of the photos without picking any more up, spreading them out, staring until all the similar faces started blurring together. They all looked so much the same, and all so much like him. Every single one of those young men, with their blond wisps of hair, boyish faces, guileless blue eyes, slight, skinny frames... They could all have been his brothers, if he'd ever had any.

He knew, somewhere deep inside where sense and reason were still trying to make themselves heard, that this was something that should disgust him. He was the last in a long line of young men so similar they were nearly interchangeable. Young men whose experiences at the hands of Loki and Tony were looking very similar to his own. It should be disturbing. Or, at the very least, he should be feeling the acidic sting of jealousy.

Steve felt none of those things.

No, he obviously wasn't the first. But now, with the advantage of the clear 20/20 vision that was hindsight, he knew it should have been obvious all along. As he thought back the pieces fell into place one by one, from the moment Loki had caught sight of him there in the first row of the art history lecture, noted his appearance. The way Tony had never seemed at all shocked that Loki had brought a student home – he had disliked the surprise, yes, but once he'd had the chance to think about it, Tony had come around so completely Steve had almost thought he was another person the second time they met. He also saw, now, that it had all been a long line of tests. Too well practiced to have been anything else. They had been working together to find out how far they could go at any given moment, how far they could push him, how much he would submit to, how much control he would relinquish. Tests he was sure every youth in those pictues had been put through as well, and since they were no longer here he was sure they had failed at some crucial point.

Would he?

The thought made his heart give a painful twist.

At least seeing the similarity between himself and these other young men, he knew one thing he wouldn't fail – his looks were never going to be a disappointment to them. He was as much what they wanted as he could possibly be. They didn't look at him and wish for someone taller. They didn't wish for more weight and muscle. Wider shoulders and stronger hands. No, they saw him just the way he was and wanted _that_. Exactly that. There was a comfort in that knowledge.

For the first time in his life he was physically good enough for someone. Two someones.

Steve eyed the images another few moments before he lifted the bottom drawer off the floor and, with some grunting effort, got it back into place, sliding it shut again. He stood up and backed away until the backs of his legs hit Tony's side of the bed and he stood there staring at the dresser for a while longer.

He had shared a bedroom with the thing for so long now, never knowing the secret it was hiding. And the strangest thing was that now that he knew, it changed absolutely nothing.

With one last look at the bottom drawer Steve turned away, fetched his clothes from the chair on Loki's side of the room and walked into the bathroom to take a shower before they got back from the store. They would like finding him clean, and wrapped in all their scents.

* * *

All the Christmas holidays Steve could remember from his childhood had been mostly lonely. His mother had always worked extra shifts, covering up for collegues who wanted those days off, and at the same time making the money meaning she could at least give Steve something, both some little gift, and something nice to eat. He'd been grateful to her for the effort, even though he often wished, later, when she was gone, that he'd just asked her to stay home with him those days instead of weorking herself ragged for a second helping of ham. In hindsight, that would have been worth so much more.

Spending the holidays with Bucky and his parents had also been lonely, even if it was in a different way. There had been plenty of food and gifts there, always a few neatly wrapped ones for him as well, but he had always been the guest. A welcome guest, yes, but still. He had always felt happier leaving than he had coming there, even if it made him feel deeply ungrateful.

His Christmas with Loki and Tony was nothing like any of those that had come before it. For the first time in his life, he didn't spend it feeling any kind of lonely.

But it was also different in other ways.

They had no Christmas tree, for one thing.

Loki did however climb a kitchen chair to tie a bundle of mistletoe to a hook in the ceiling right in the passage between the kitchen area and the livingroom, were all of them passed by most often in the house. Giving him plenty of opportunities to grab either of them and haul them in for a kiss. Tony and Steve found no reasons to complain about that, really.

For his part, Tony had bought a bag of ripe oranges and some whole cloves, which he then proceeded to stick into the peel of the fruits before he tied red ribbons around them and hung them in all the windows, spreading a fresh, sweet and spicy smell through the house.

And that mix of scents wasn't the only unfamiliar one. When Loki went into the kitchen to prepare Christmas dinner, what he made was a sort of potato casserole where the potatoes were cut into sticks instead of sliced, and then mixed with onion, butter, cream and sprats – of all things. And also a cold dish where he mixed mayonnaise with whipped cream and served it all with pickled herring and finely chopped red onion, leek, and dill. It made the house smell strangely, oddly exotic, but Steve was still deeply sceptical of the dishes – until he tried them and just couldn't get enough. Loki's smile was wider and more pleased than Steve had ever seen it.

They didn't exchange any gifts, either. They just did what Steve had wished he and his mother had done; they spent time together. And Steve wasn't on the outside looking in, he wasn't a guest, he was... part of the family. Strange as the thought felt. But it was true. Even when he was staying put and was not a part of the actual activity, he was always there in the center of attention anyway, sitting between them on the couch as they played chess or some card game. Loki absently running fingers through Steve's hair as he considered his next move, if he should sacrifice his rook to take out Tony's knight or not. Tony cracking open walnuts and feeding Steve some of the bigger pieces he could salvage from the shell wreckage, while he teased Loki about taking so long with his moves.

Late in the night they all shared the bathtub, which surprisingly enough had room for all three of them. Loki and Tony sitting with their backs against opposite ends, Loki's longer legs angled up over Tony's where they were flat on the bottom, Steve settled in the space between them, leaning back into Loki's chest, warm water to his chin and so relaxed Loki had to wrap his arms tight around him to keep him above the surface.

It could have frightened him, he supposed, being reminded of the time they had put him in the bathtub all limp and helpless, but he just felt safer at the memory. After all, he was pretty limp and helpless now, still full, warm, tired, melting into Loki's front while Tony went to gently rub his feet under the water. Maybe he even dozed off like that, and when they all curled up in bed afterward, warm and noodle-limbed, he fell asleep almost instantly.

Early in the next midwinter morning he woke up with his back to Loki's, tight against Tony's chest and held in place by the arm Tony had wrapped around both of them. By the steady rhythm that arm was moving, and the way Loki was breathing behind him, Steve knew without seeing it that Tony was jerking him off.

When the mechanic noticed that Steve was awake he just gave him a smile and kept going. So Steve bent his head, snuggled into Tony's chest and simply enjoyed being there, in the middle of something he was not expected to be an active part of. Just breathing in warmth and sex, feeling the damp of Loki's sweat against his back and Tony's hot breath in his hair.

The rest of the day was one of calm and easy rest, which was then abruptly broken the next day, when Loki declaired that the new year was only a few days away and that he refused to face it in a dirty house. By the way Tony rolled his eyes and facepalmed, Steve knew this was probably a tradition that went far back, and that Tony had tried and failed to get rid of. Soon Steve himself knew he wouldn't get away from it either, when he was pulled from his place on the couch and made to take all plates and glasses and bowls and utensils and tools from the shelves and drawers in the kitchen, make sure it was all run through the dish washer, and that the storage was all cleaned. It meant he had to climb chairs and countertops but in the middle of it, dizzy from the cleaning spray and arms sore, he somehow realized he was having fun.

That couldn't be said for Tony, who swore and grumbled and complained that this happened every year, and every year it took him at least a week to find where all his stuff was again.

Loki just leaned in and kissed his forehead in the way Steve had learned meant ”I hear, I listen, I simply don't care”. Which Tony obviously knew as well, given his displeased huff .

”The things I do for love”, he muttered as he went to take the couch cushions outside to be dusted.

”At least I'm not your sister. And no-one is being thrown out a tower window”, Loki offered as a comfort at the reference, which earned him a stuck out tongue. And a laugh.

By that afternoon Steve was worn out, so Loki sent him to take a shower in the sparkly clean bathroom.

When he was about to step into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and looking for clothes to replace the ones Loki snatched away and put in the laundry, he came to a halt in the doorway. Because Tony was on his knees by the dresser, the bottom drawer pulled out so it was resting on his thighs, reaching into the hidden compartment pulling things out. To put them in a black garbage bag by his side on the floor. And Steve knew the reason he had been sent to clean up was so Tony could do this without him noticing, so he tip-toed away from the door and stood uselessly rubbing a towel through his mostly dry hair until he heard Tony leave the bedroom.

After getting dressed, his curiosity got the better of him. Since he could hear Tony and Loki talking in the kitchen he quickly stepped over to the dresser, crouched down, pulled the drawer out most of the way, and reached a hand in behind it. Finding the space completely empty. Just as he had suspected. As quickly and quietly as he could he shut the drawer again, got up, and walked out into the livingroom, pretending his heart wasn't trying to make strange but not unpleasant little cartwheels in his chest.

They didn't seem to notice, at least. Loki started on a dinner that was part leftovers and part new, while Steve was told to stay put in his usual spot in the corner of the couch, and Tony picked up the deck of cards to play solitaire.

All was quiet, all of them tired after the day's work.

From his place in the corner Steve watched them both. Loki as he worked in the kitchen, focused on his task of re-heating the potato dish in the oven. Tony frowning over his cards. Both of them so different, and yet so much the same.

And there, in that moment, he suddenly understood what it was he did for them. Why they wanted him in their lives, when they had each other. Why they wanted him in the bed between them at night instead of holding each other. Steve was something bringing them together. He was an experience they could both share, something they could meet in. When they touched each other they never knew what the other felt. When they placed their hands on Steve, they knew the other felt the same thing they did, at the same time. Like joining in the miracle of a spectacular sunset, or pointing out the same constellations a starry night, sipping from the same glass of fine wine, or feeding someone a spoonful of a sinfully delicios dessert. Steve was something they enjoyed, and could enjoy together.

But he didn't think that was all of it. Steve started to see, then, that he was also something they shaped, something they created together. A kind of art they both mastered. They were making a joint effort to mould him into something they wanted, making him perfect, the way they saw it. The way he had seen in their collection of pictures.

All his life people had wanted him to be shaped into something else, but those wishes had always been impossible for him to fulfill. Because Steve couldn't be tall and strong, he couldn't be healthy and resilient, no matter how badly he wanted it himself. Now, that wasn't what Loki and Tony wanted from him, though. For them, all he had to do was stay put. Trust them to give him what he needed. Smile was all he needed to do to make them happy. He just needed to give in, and be their _beautiful, precious thing_.

He could do that, couldn't he?

Steve heard a tiny, broken whimper leave him, unbidden. The realization had filled him so completely it had forced the air right out of him, taking the noise with it. He wasn't sure if what was rushing into him instead was terror, or relief.

Tony turned around at the sound from him, brown eyes settling on his face. They must have seen something of what was going on inside him, even though Steve's face felt numb and he had no idea what he might look like at the moment. Whatever Tony saw, it was still enough to turn his eyes honey-sweet as he turned fully in his seat, facing the corner where Steve was placed.

”No need to work yourself up”, Tony said, placing a steadying hand on his thigh, just above the knee. ”We're right here.”

It took all of Steve's remaining strenght to give a tiny nod.

That was at least enough to make Tony give him a soft smile. Then those strong hands were under his legs, behind his back, gathering him up until he was sitting sideways in Tony's lap, leaning with his side against Tony's chest. Now a hand was stroking slow, ever warmer circles over his back and Steve found himself more or less melting into Tony's firm, solid presence.

Steve's own arms were resting in his lap, hands curled up limply on his thighs. He felt sure that even if he consciously decided to, he wouldn't be able to move them. Only this time he was certain they hadn't given him something to make him that way, there were no chemicals making him loose and pliant. It was something he was doing to himself. Allowing to happen.

”There you go.” The praise flowed into him, both as sound and as vibrations from the body all but surrounding his as those arms held him a little tighter. ”We love you, precious thing. You being here is the best Christmas present we've ever been given.”

And Steve let his eyes fall shut as well, surrendering completely, knowing that this was something meant to last. That he had passed the test. That he was theirs. Forever.

* * *

New Year's Eve passed in a haze of joy much the same as Christmas had been, but then there were only two weeks until his classes were starting again and Steve decided to try to get some studying done before that. He didn't want to get himself into the same situation as during the end of the fall semester.

So he asked for permission to go home and get his school bag, and they happily granted it, kissed him goodbye, and sent him on his way.

It felt strange to be outside. He hadn't been since the last disastrous lunch with Bucky, a few days before Christmas, and now the world seemed too big and too full of details. Luckily the dorms were mostly deserted, students still away for the holidays, and he didn't have to stop to talk to anyone or even say hello to a neighbour.

His dorm room smelled stale and stuffy, there was a bit of dust gathered on the flat surfaces, and it looked like no-one had lived there in ages. Which, he realized, no-one had. He had barely been more than in and out the door during most of the last semester, just picking up fresh clothes or books and such. When was the last time he had spent a night here? Steve frowned, looking around. Maybe the middle of November? He couldn't even remember now.

Steve walked over to his desk and picked up his bag from the seat of his chair. Then he frowned, thoughtful suddenly, and put it back down. He pulled out his sketchbook, flipped it open to the last page he had drawn anything on. It was from class, some lesson on cat anatomy where he'd drawn house cats jumping into boxes and lionesses fighting. He flipped to the next one, also from class. And the next. And the next. When he at last reached a drawing he remembered from a private lesson with Loki he glanced at the date, and froze. October twentieth. He blinked. Yes, he'd known the lessons have become few and far between, but he hadn't thought... 

Again he looked at the drawing from the last lesson, and he couldn't even remeber what it had been about. All he had left of it was another portrait of Loki, bent over his desk in the studio and focused on his own work. And perhaps that was why he couldn't remember? Because it hadn't really been a lesson; he had just been up there with Loki while he was working.

His stomach felt like it was filling with ice water while he flipped back through the pages of the drawings from his last classes and he saw them for what they were – acceptable, nothing more. For so long he had been sure he had been improving, and in the beginning, after the first lessons, he knew he had, but this? No, this was no improvement. If anything, he was getting worse. Lazy and sloppy. 

How had he let this happen?

Lost in thought he picked the bag off the chair and sank down on it, still staring at the drawings.

He had forgotten about himself. He had become theirs, and everything they wanted him to be, and he had forgotten this. What really mattered to _him_.

Steve had no idea how long he had been sitting there staring, but when he at last looked up it had started turning dark outside. They would be wondering where he was soon, he should get back. On auto-pilot more than anything he stuffed the sketchbook back into the bag, but when he went to stand up it was like he had lost control of the muscles in his legs. He just couldn't do it.

Wrapped in Tony's arms he had realized that what they wanted was forever. There had been tests, Steve had passed them all, and they wanted to keep him. And part of him wanted to be kept, but what was that also keeping him _from_? He had never stopped to consider that, and now that he did he could see that the price was high. Too high. It was giving up everything he had been working and striving for since his mother died.

He had something with them that he hadn't had in many years. Perhaps had never truly had. With them, he belonged. He was wanted and cared for and loved. Was his art really more important than that?

Yes.

No...

_Yes!_

Steve groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until all he saw was flashes of red and his head started aching. Yes, it was more important. Being theirs was amazing, and he wanted that – oh god yes he wanted that! But this was the only thing that had ever been _his_ , the only thing he would leave behind when he was gone, the only way he could change the world, be a part of the bigger picture. And he couldn't let that go. Not even for them.

Because being theirs also meant being their... doll. Their precious, perfect _thing_. The thing that stayed put and stayed silent and was theirs to pet and hold and feed and wash.

Being theirs meant never having a will or wants of his own. It meant being swallowed whole by their wish to own him completely.

It was a kind of existence he might have loved wholeheartedly in another life, loved in this one as well, really, but in this one he also had a goal, and that was to be an artist. To be great, in his own right. With them he would only ever be a work of art, nothing more. Pretty and perfect in their eyes, perhaps, but never great.

He could not possibly be both, he knew that.

Still, he couldn't move. He stayed there, frozen in place, until it was pitch black outside his window.

Then his phone started ringing, and Steve startled, his head twitching up to stare at the spot where he had dropped his snow-wet jacket on the floor by his shoes before walking into the dorm room. He didn't move to pick it up, just kept staring until it stopped ringing. A few moments of silence and then the message signal, and he knew they had called and left a voicemail. Wondering where he was. Worrying that something had happened to him.

He knew he had to talk to them. Tell them that he wouldn't be coming back. He couldn't just stay here and say nothing. That was too cruel, and they didn't deserve that. But he couldn't go back there. If he saw their faces he would crumble and never be able to do what he knew he had to do, even if it broke his heart just thinking about it.

It took considerable force, but at last Steve got himself off the chair and back to his jacket. He kneeled on the floor and pulled the phone out of his pocket, saw Loki's name on the screen for the missed call and the voicemail, didn't bother to listen to it but just called back. Before he could lose what little courage he had.

After barely two signals Loki answered. ”Sweet thing?” He sounded a bit breathless, as if he had been running to the phone. Perhaps he had. ”Are you all right? Where are you? Did something happen?”

The barrage of worried questions stunned Steve for a moment. ”No, I... Yes... I mean, I'm fine, but...” He cleared his throat, tried to find words. ”I'm still at home, and... and I'm staying here. I can't come back.”

”Can't?” Loki sounded confused now. ”Did they cancel the bus? I can send Tony to pick you up with the car, you know that.”

”Sure I can pick him up!” That was Tony's voice piping up in the background.

”No!”, Steve blurted out, too loud, and the other end of the line went dead silent. ”Just... please don't send him”, he continued, more quietly. Perhaps too quietly instead. ”That's not what I meant. I can't come back because I can't. Because I... won't.”

The silence on the other end was still complete, but there were some thuds and scrapes and noises and Steve guessed that was Tony coming close enough to hear the conversation. He must have been able to tell from Loki's face by now that something was off. Steve closed his eyes, ran his free hand into his hair and fisted it there, pulling at the blond whisps until it hurt in his efforts not to try to picture what they looked like right now.

”Won't?” Loki at last repeated his final word, tone flat.

”Won't”, he confirmed, scrambling for words, hearing the faint echo that meant Loki had put him on speaker phone. ”It's just too much and I can't come back. To you.”

There came a strangled little gasp and he had no idea which one of them had made it.

”Steve, please.” Loki sounded wrecked now, and hearing his actual name in that voice still made Steve's heart leap. ”Don't do this. We love you. You are everything we have always wanted. Don't leave us. _Please._ ” His voice almost cracked on the last word.

Steve folded in on himself, bending double where he was kneeling on the floor, the hand not holding the phone to his ear dropping from his hair so he could wrap that arm tightly around his middle. He couldn't speak, but he was sure they could hear his ragged breathing.

Maybe Loki couldn't talk either, because it was Tony who spoke next. ”Is it something we did? Just... tell us, and we'll fix it.” Tony, ever the tinkerer and mechanic, the one who thought everything could be put back together and made better. Not this, though. ”Precious thing. Talk to us?”

Shaking his head, even though they couldn't see, Steve pressed the phone closer to his ear. ”No”, he said. ”No, it's not you. I just can't do this anymore. Really can't.”

There were a few moments of silence.

”Did you... talk to someone?” Loki, at once suspicious and wary.

”No!” Steve shot up straight on his knees with the force of the exclamation. ”Nothing like that! I would never...! No, I haven't said anything to anyone. It's not about anyone else. It's about me. I just can't do this.” He pulled in a trembling breath. ”I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

”Please.” Tony again, pleading now. ”Come out here, and we'll talk this through. I'm sure there's something we can do? Please?”

”I can't. I'm sorry.” He was starting to feel like a broken record, and knew there was no use carrying on. There was nothing he could say that would make this better. ”Goodbye.” The last was wet and strangled and half-choked.

There came a just as wet gasp from Loki, before calling out to stop him from doing what he was about to do. ”Steve! Please don-”

He almost ripped the phone from his ear and stabbed the red button with a stiff finger, to end the call before he had to hear any more.

Then he crumbled into a sobbing heap on top of his damp jacket on the floor and cried until he couldn't breathe, until every muscle in his abdomen was a cramping mess and his head ached so much he thought it would crack down the middle. And he still wished he could have cried more.


	9. Middle ground

Going back to school two weeks later was a horrible experience, but Steve knew he had no choice but to suck up and do it. It was too important for anything else.

At least he had another professor for drawing class this year, which he was deeply grateful for now, even though it had annoyed him when he had found out just a couple of months earlier. Now he knew he couldn't have handled professor Laufeyson being that close to him. There were still the art history lectures, though. Steve just made sure to get there early enough that he could get a seat as far back as possible, hiding from those turquoise eyes, dark with pain whenever they met Steve's furtive glances.

School was also the only thing he had now. He studied harder than he had ever done in his life, just to fill the empty hours, and worked on his drawing until his fingers ached. At times he found himself sketching dark, smiling eyes or long, elegant fingers, and then he tore the pages out, ripped them to shreds and threw them away, before continuing to work.

Life outside of school work wasn't going that well.

Even eating turned into an impossible struggle. His appetite was more or less gone, and when he tried to eat anyway it more often than not ended with him staring at the food cooling on his plate, hands useless in his lap, waiting for something that would never happen.

Over the past months he'd actually gained a little bit of weight, thanks to Loki's constant fussing, his stubborn refusal to let Steve leave the table until he'd eaten a proper meal. Not a lot of weight, because his body just didn't work that way – it seemed to eat itself up from the inside, consume every scrap of energy he gave it, in an effort to just stay upright, dealing with its own weaknesses – but enough that there had been at least a hint of softness between skin and bone. And he'd liked it. For the first time ever he hadn't glanced away from every mirror in shame, hadn't felt so bad about rolling up the sleeves of his shirt because his wrists had been less bony, his arms not so boyishly skinny. It had felt good. He had felt good.

Now, that new weight had dropped right off of him again. Possibly taken some of what had been there before with it as well. He'd had to pull his belt a little tighter so his pants would stay up, he didn't want to roll his sleeves up at all anymore; he just let them stain while he worked, to avoid looking at the sad state of his wrists now.

Still, he couldn't make himself eat properly.

He could spend ten minutes staring at the contents of his fridge in forlorn confusion, and then end up just closing the door and leaving his kitchenette again, stomach just as empty as it had been.

There were cups of tea. Lots of them. Many standing around cooling because he forgot about them as well, but at least he could drink the leftovers down anyway when he remembered, cold and bitter on his tongue. And he bit his nails until his fingers bled. But most of the time that was it. Not because he wanted to actively starve himself; he just didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

Washing himself was the same. His hands felt limp and useless and sometimes he just zoned out under the drizzle of warm water, later finding himself on the hard tiles with his forehead against his knees and his arms wrapped around his shins and no idea of how much time had passed.

His hair was getting too long again, but now he didn't care.

His clothes smelled like his own brand of fabric softener now, after a round in the laundry machine.

Every trace of them was gone and Steve was afraid he was forgetting them, and at the same time hoping that he would, because perhaps the memories would take the pain with them when they left.

Sleep also came hard, if at all, and this night was no exception. It was a Friday night, or more accurately very early Saturday, since it was now 2.03 AM, and he was still awake.

Steve curled up tighter under the covers, buried his face in the lumpy pillow and wished that the bed hadn't been so cold and empty. That he hadn't been all alone in a quiet room. He wanted to have Loki's slow, even breaths brushing warm by his forehead. He wanted Tony murmuring into his hair in his sleep, moving restlessly as his busy mind wouldn't shut down even when his body was trying to get some rest. He wanted to wake up in he morning with their hands already stroking him hard in his undewear...

Groaning when he realized that the thought was making him hard right now, Steve turned on his back and dragged the pillow over his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself. That felt at least a little like it was better than facing this alone.

Behind tightly closed eyes and the pillow quickly turning warm and damp with his heavier breathing, Steve tried to will away all those memories he didn't want anymore. Of their hands caressing and exploring every intimate inch of him. Of a stone floor under his knees, Tony's warmth at his back and Loki's cock in his mouth as deep as he could take it. Of them taking him and filling him, holding him and loving him. No, he definitely didn't want those memories anymore. They hurt. And not just because he was so hard every throb of his heartbeat made him ache, but because he knew that was all gone and he could never have it back. He'd walked away, and it was all over.

When Steve tossed the pillow aside the cloth wasn't just damp from his beathing.

He pulled a deep, shuddering breath and gave up. He knew he had to do something about this, at least physically, or there was no way he was going to sleep anytime soon. Gritting his teeth Steve shoved a hand under the covers, into his boxer briefs, and grabbed an almost aggressively hard hold on his cock. Wanting to punish himself about as much as pleasure himself. Or maybe more.

As he started stroking he tried to will other images up. Girls he'd taken to bed once flashed by, but they did nothing to help. So he tried to replace them with men, but made them faceless strangers. People who meant nothing. Just a warm, nameless body that could hold him in his lap and fuck him sore while Steve's hands clenched to fists in the stranger's long, black hair and a bearded mouth came from behind to kiss his shoulder, to murmur that he was _such a sweet, precious -_

Biting off a frustrated moan Steve tossed his head to the side, trying to shake those thoughts out of it.

It didn't work. Every time he started over with a new scene set in his mind the images shifted until there were nothing but brown or turquoise eyes, calloused hands and thin, pleased smiles and thick, glossy hair of brown or black and he was lost. So lost. And never lost enough.

When he'd been trying for so long that his erection gave up and left him all on its own, without taking any of his frustration with it, Steve felt hot tears trickle out of the outer corners of his eyes, down his temples and into his hair and ears. He curled his left hand into a fist and hit the meaty part against the wall beside the bed. It just made a pathetic little thump when it connected with the solid surface. Impotent. Which was really what he was now, wasn't it? In every single sense of the word.

He still needed them. To take care of everything.

* * *

It was still fairly early the next day when there came a knock on Steve's door. When he stood on his toes to see out through the peep hole he recognized Bucky's dark, slicked back hair and immediately sank back down on his heels. He blinked at the wood in front of his face, his mind a blank, but then his hands almost automatically went to the lock, opening the door to someone he had been pretty sure he would never see again.

He had missed his former friend so much he hadn't even been able to think about it, not until Steve was now suddenly face to face with him again.

Bucky's mouth fell open when he got his eyes on Steve. ”You look like shit”, he blurted out once he got his words back.

Steve huffed and found he couldn't feel offended, or even annoyed. He knew it was true. Not only skinnier than ever, but worn and ragged too. ”Thanks”, he muttered, and at the same time feeling the side of his mouth try to twist up in a wry smile.

That made Bucky wince. ”Sorry, Stevie. But really, I've been so damn worried about you, and by the look of you I... guess I was right to be.”

For a while Steve could just look at him, and the pinched frown made him believe that James was actually honest. He had been worried. So in the end Steve took a step to the side, almost in behind the door, and waved him in. Whatever there was to say between them he didn't want it said halfway out into the hallway.

After getting rid of shoes and jacket Bucky walked over to sit down on the little couch, barely bigger than an armchair, and filled it more or less completely. Steve pulled the chair from his desk a bit closer and sat on that instead of trying to squeeze himself down beside him, so they could talk face to face across the table. Not that he knew what to say, so he just sat there, silent and waiting while Bucky stared at him, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

”I take it things didn't end well? With the professor?” Bucky's words were unexpectedly gentle, but they still made Steve flinch.

He knew that little tell had already given him away and that any lie he could come up with now would be useless, but he tried anyway, as stubborn as always. ”Nothing to end, really, I just have a new professor for my drawing class this semester, so there are no more lessons and -” Even he could hear how tight and brittle his voice was.

”Steve”. It was just as calm and careful, but enough to cut him off. Bucky leaned closer with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging clutched between them. ”I'm sorry.”

Now it was Steve's mouth that dropped open, and no words came out.

So James kept talking. ”About being an asshole to you, before Christmas. I know I'm kind of an idiot. Well, at least I'm really nowhere near as smart as you, but I do actually have eyes, you know?” He raised an eyebrow, and Steve felt himself shrink even more in his seat. ”I was worried about you. That's why I acted like I did and I've thought about it since and I figured you didn't get that. Because I don't think I said things... very well.” There he glanced away and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. ”Also, I guess I was... jealous? In a way?”

Steve blinked. ”Jealous?” 

When he looked back at him, Bucky wore a self-deprecating little smile. ”Come on... It was obvious you spent way more time with him than just those lessons and every time you said his name your face lit up like the fucking sun. I guess I'm just used to having you all to myself.” He made a face. ”Which is an awful thing to say. Sorry. I should have been happier for you.”

And Steve still had no idea what to say.

For a while they were both silent, then Bucky tried again. ”So, no more lessons?”

Shaking his head Steve looked down as his hands, wringing around each other in his lap.

”Sorry”, James repeated. And then silence again before he continued. ”Look, Stevie, I know you're probably still pissed at me and if you are that's okay, I deserve that. And I know it's Saturday and not Monday. But you wanna have lunch? With me? Anyway?”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did he slowly raised his head to find Bucky looking cautiously hopeful as he waited for a response.

No-one had ever come to Steve to apologize or ask forgiveness. It had always been him who had been expected to come crawling back, even when people had wronged him in the first place. He guessed he had always been too small and insignificant for anyone to care what he thought, or felt, or wanted. And now here was Bucky, who had never said sorry to him for anything before, both saying sorry for what he had done himself, and sorry for how things had turned out with the professor.

Not judging Steve, not being disgusted, not being relieved that things had turned out the way they had. Just... being sorry.

He swallowed. ”Yeah, sure, why not?”

And Bucky's almost blindingly bright smile made it feel like Steve wouldn't even have that much trouble forgiving him.

* * *

On Thursday night the week after Bucky's unexpected visit, Steve found a package in his mailbox. So big it just barely fit in the space and when he unlocked the forced shut door it sprang open with such force it almost hit him in the face. Frowning, he pulled the package out, feeling something soft shift under the brown paper wrapped arund it, and stuffed it under his arm while he locked the mailbox back up and went to his room.

There was no address written on the package, just a simple _Steve_ in a neat, elegant script he knew far too well not to recognize after seeing it on a whiteboard so many times. Which meant they must have come to drop it off at the desk in person. Both of them? Or just Loki? No, more likely just Tony. Loki was a professor and the students living here would know him on sight, while no-one knew Tony.

He wasn't sure he should even open it, but before he'd had the chance to make a real, conscious decision he had already ripped the paper free from the tape on the underside of the package and was pulling it open. And then his lap was suddenly full of his own clothes. All the clothes he had left behind in their wardrobe when he had decided he wasn't coming back, which was now over two months ago. For a while he just sat staring at neatly folded jeans and t-shirts, shirts and sweater, then he slipped his hands in under the bundle of clothes and lifted it to his face, nuzzled into the fabric, breathing in the scent of _them_.

And then threw it all across the room with a strangled, choked shout of pain and fury. _Why?!_ Just when he had started to think he could move on, they had to remind him!

He supposed they had meant well, wanting to send back his things, but all he felt was hurt. He wished they had kept those things. Or burned them. 

After maybe an hour of being curled up in rage and torment on his tiny couch, Steve got back up with a sigh to collect the clothes again. He would wash them, to get the scent out, and then he could use them. He couldn't afford to throw them away and get new ones, after all. Steve knew that when he thought about it a bit more reasonably. But when he crouched down and picked up his sweater something fell out of the folded garment and he froze. Hesitated. Then picked it up, even though he already knew he shouldn't.

It was a photo, of him. It had to have been taken a long time ago because he was asleep on their couch, covered by that soft, green blanket he had been tucked in under the first few times he'd spent the night there. By the look of it the picture had been taken early in the morning, because sunlight was falling at a sharp, low angle in through the window above the couch and made his hair look like spun gold, turned his skin pale and flawless, threw shadows from his eyelashes over his cheek, made his soft lips ruby red.

It was beautiful, really.

Steve plopped down on his ass on the floor, clothes dropped beside him, and just stared at the photo for a very long time. Maybe he could try to pretend that he didn't understand what it meant, why they had sent it along with his things, but he did. He knew what the unspoken message was.

_We miss you._

And he also knew that it meant something that they had chosen a photo taken so long ago, long before he had understood that they had really wanted him. Because even then, _they_ had known that they wanted him. That he could be theirs.

They had thrown out all those old pictures of the many boys that had come and gone before him, but they had kept this. And probably many more of him he had never known they had taken. Because they had wanted to keep _him_ , in a way they had never wanted with any of those other young men who had all been so much like him, and still so very different.

Pressing the photo to his chest, Steve started wondering if maybe he had made a profound mistake. Not in choosing his art, and everything it meant to him. He could never regret that, no matter the pain. No, perhaps the mistake had been thinking that he had to choose at all. That he needn't even bother asking to have both, because what he wanted didn't matter to anyone but him.

Steve was used to being small and insignificant. Overlooked. Pushed aside. Worthless. He had, without even stopping to think about it, assumed that this relationship worked the same way. All he had seen were the things he would have to give up, all the things asked of him. The way all the power had been in the hands of Loki and Tony, all along. 

But slowly, so slowly, the pieces of the puzzle started to shape a different picture than the one he had seen before.

Yes, he had given them a lot, but he had completely failed to see that they had also invested a lot in him in return. The pictures Steve had found were obviously the remains of years of searching, probably with a lot of time spent with each person before deciding he was not the one. They had, in essence, spent years looking for _him_. And they hadn't hesitated to invest time and energy and love in him. To make him theirs.

This had never been about playing with Steve for a while, use him up and then throw him away. They had been playing for keeps, and just when they had thought they had everything they had always wanted – Steve had ripped himself from them. And there was no pretending he hadn't heard the way that had broken both their hearts – or the one heart Steve had once thought they shared between them.

Clearly, not all the power was in their hands. To them, Steve was no such thing as insignificant. To them, he was valuable beyond measure.

He had something to bargain with for what he wanted, so parhaps he had made a mistake in not even trying. Perhaps he meant enough to them that they would care what he wanted? Meet him halfway? Bucky had, so maybe they would, too?

And he knew there was only one way to find out.

Steve got up from the floor, stripped on the spot, and pulled on the dark blue jeans they had brought back to him, one of the white t-shirts, and a plaid shirt in red, white and blue. Not bothering to button it before he pulled on shoes and jacket, grabbed his bag and left, heading for the bus stop.

* * *

It was Loki who opened the door when he reached the red brick house. The professor's curiously searching look turned to a shocked blank when he recognized Steve as the person waiting outside on the snowy doorstep. Then he really saw Steve's gaunt face, the dark circles under his eyes, chapped lips, and his too-long, tangled and dirty hair. At the sight his eyes went even wider, shock almost turning to horror.

Only then did Steve realize that the professor must have tried to keep from looking too closely at him on campus, just as much as Steve had tried to not look at him.

”Oh, _Steve_ ”, Loki breathed, turquoise eyes turning liquid. Then he shook himself, looking like he came back to here and now, and his face pinched into a frown. ”We didn't think we would ever see you here again.” Loki hesitated. ”We... gave your clothes back. I hope you got them? Tony left them with the girl at the front desk. Was there a problem? Is that why you came? Did we forget something?”

It was the most nervous ramble Steve had ever heard from the artist, and somehow it gave him new hope. He made himself give Loki a tiny excuse for a smile and glanced down at his legs, drawing the other's attention to the pants he was wearing, before he looked up at Loki's stunned face.

”No, I got the things you sent. All of them.” Meaning the photo, but not saying it.

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments that felt very long.

”Then why come back here?” There was no accusation or anger in the words when Loki finally spoke up again, just something deep and raw, broken and aching that once again made Steve feel like he wanted to curl up at his feet and beg forgiveness.

But he couldn't. That was the whole point

”I came for my drawing lesson”, he said, voice hoarse but forced steady, and saw Loki blink, eyelashes fluttering in surprise. ”If that offer still stands, I mean.”

That was when a movement in the corner of his eyes drew his focus from Loki's, and Steve saw that Tony had come to stand behind Loki's left shoulder in the doorway. His right arm came to wrap around Loki's waist and made the artist startle slightly. Apparently he hadn't heard the mechanic approach either, which was odd. They were usually so connected they always knew where the other was. Loki must really be rattled.

Tony said nothing, but the hint of worry in his dark eyes when he saw Steve's face was still clear enough, brows furrowing in concern.

”Your drawing lesson”, Loki repeated slowly, as if the words were spoken in some foreign language and meant nothing to him. It was the most confused Steve had ever seen him.

”I still want to be the best I can be”, Steve started, trying to make them see. ”For you”, he continued, eyes shifting between their faces, seeing how the expression in their eyes was moving somewhere between bewilderment and a slowly dawning hope. ”But for myself, too. So...” He hesitated, cleared his throat. ”So I want the lesson. First.” Then he couldn't go on, couldn't explain what he meant in greater detail just then because his voice and heart failed him, air unwilling to come back into his shriveled lungs.

A little while the three of them were frozen in space and time. Then Loki turned his head and looked back down at Tony, half behind him. Steve could see Loki's sweater bunch up a little when Tony's arm held on tighter to his waist, a wordless message passing between their bodies, before they both turned to look at him.

And then Tony smiled, let go of Loki and moved to open the door all the way, inviting him in.

Steve didn't hesitate to step through the door to stand right between them, getting out of the cold, their arms closing around him before he had even shrugged his jacket off.

”Welcome back, sweet thing.” Loki pressed a kiss to the usual spot by his hairline, the words wavering slightly from the emotion behind them.

”We missed you”, Tony added on a warm, earnest breath agains his temple.

The space in their arms wasn't the same perfect place he had left. Not yet. But Steve was sure that it would be, soon, and then even better. And it was right where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of this story, and honestly, I'm going to miss it. And a huge thank you to you all for coming along for this creepy ride!


End file.
